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BOOKS  BY  EDWARD   DICKINSON 
Published   by   CHARLES    SCRIBNER'S   SONS 

Music  in  the  History  of  the  Western  Churcii. 

Cr.  8vo, net  $2.50 

The  Study  of  the  History  of  Music.    Cr.  8vo, 

net  $2.50 

The  Education  of  a  Music  Lover.    12mo,    net  $L50 


THE   EDUCATION 
OF  A  MUSIC   LOVER 


THE  EDUCATION 
OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 


A  BOOK  FOR  THOSE  WHO 
STUDY  OR  TEACH  THE  ART  OF  LISTENING 


BY 

EDWARD   DICKINSON 

PROFESSOR  OF  THE  HISTORY  AND  CRITICISM  OF  MUSIC 
OBERLIN  COLLEGE 


NEW  YORK 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 

1911 


Copyright,  191  i,  by 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


Published  March,  191 1 


TO 
MRS.  RUDOLPH  BARDENHEUER 


PREFACE 

The  lost  art,  that  is  perhaps  nearest  of  all  arts 
to  eternity,  the  subtle  art  of  listening. 

— William  Butler  Yeats. 

This  book  is  an  attempt  to  interpret  music  to 
those  who  already  love  it  upon  slight  acquaintance 
and  desire  the  fuller  enjoyment  that  comes  with 
larger  knowledge.  It  is  the  part  of  wisdom  to 
make  studious  preparation  for  any  enterprise  that 
adds  to  the  wealth  of  the  mind,  whether  it  be  travel- 
ling in  foreign  lands,  looking  at  pictures,  or  taking 
a  walk.  It  is  a  question  of  seeing  much,  of  seeing 
correctly,  and  of  retaining  what  one  sees.  With 
some  preliminary  acquaintance  with  the  facts  of 
art  or  nature  there  is  intelligent  expectation,  and 
afterward  a  sense  of  permanent  possession. 

It  goes  without  saying  that  so  extensive  a  survey 
of  musical  art  as  I  propose  is  not  intended  for  those 
who  hear  music  only  for  transient,  superficial 
pleasure.  Not  that  I  would  condemn  such  pleas- 
ure;— the  instant  joy,  the  sudden  elevation  of  mood 
which  fine  music  brings,  even  to  those  who  know 
nothing  about  its  principles,  is  not  to  be  despised; 
the  effect  is  not  altogether  evanescent,  since  every 
impression  upon  the  senses  alters  the  mental  con- 
stitution, and  even  a  slight  visitation  of  truth  or 

vii 


PREFACE 

beauty  leaves  us  a  little  higher  in  reason's  scale 
than  we  were  before.  But  still,  this  fugitive  ex- 
perience does  not  quite  satisfy  a  person  who  is  con- 
stantly bent  on  self-improvement,  and  he  will  be 
inclined  to  ask  how  he  can  add  something  more 
tangible  to  his  momentary  satisfactions,  and  draw 
from  music  that  which  will  call  into  play  his  active 
powers  of  observation  and  reflection  and  give  his 
understanding  something  solid  to  feed  upon. 

The  present  volume  is  the  result  of  many  years 
of  experience  in  leading  students  into  the  mysteries 
of  music.  The  writing  of  it  has  been  especially 
associated  with  the  very  delightful  task  of  inter- 
preting to  college  men  and  women  the  message  of 
the  great  tone  masters  from  every  point  of  view 
that  may  be  suggested  by  their  works.  In  the 
practice  of  this  lectureship  the  implied  inquiry  has 
always  been:  What  are  the  elements  that  music 
contains  in  all  its  phases  as  an  art  of  design  and 
an  art  of  expression?  And  also:  How  much  of  all 
this  can  be  understood  and  appreciated  by  one 
who  does  not  sing  or  play  an  instrument,  and  is 
unacquainted  with  musical  theory?  It  has  been 
surprising,  as  well  as  gratifying,  to  discover  how 
much  of  critical  appreciation  can  be  developed  by 
an  untrained  music  lover  under  judicious  leader- 
ship. This  experience  has  not  been  isolated,  and 
the  success  of  others  in  the  same  undertaking  has 
been  such  that  instruction  in  what  is  commonly 
called  "musical  appreciation,"  which  has  recently 
become  a  feature  in  many  conservatories,  musical 
viii 


PREFACE 

dubs,  and  private  circles,  is  now  slowly  making  its 
way  into  universities,  colleges,  and  public  schools. 
Colleges  that  are  reluctant  to  establish  technical 
courses  in  practical  music,  are  beginning  to  see 
that  the  promotion  of  intelligent  taste  in  music  is 
as  much  within  their  province  as  a  similar  en- 
deavor in  respect  to  the  kindred  arts  of  painting 
and  literature. 

In  the  present  volume  I  have  had  a  mature  grade 
of  students,  as  well  as  teachers,  in  mind,  for  since 
it  is  not  in  any  sense  a  text  book,  it  has  seemed  best 
to  me  to  expound  music  from  the  higher  and  more 
comprehensive  point  of  view,  leaving  it  to  those 
who  may  do  me  the  honor  to  read  my  words  to 
apply  its  suggestions  to  their  own  particular  needs 
and  circumstances.  Professional  musicians  will 
find  nothing  novel,  either  in  fact  or  theory;  the 
method  of  presentation  may  perhaps  contain  sug- 
gestive features.  It  is  my  hope  that  those  who  love 
the  art  and  wish  to  extend  their  vision  of  its  beauty, 
and  also  those  who  are  trying,  systematically  or 
otherwise,  to  diffuse  their  love  of  music  over  a  wider 
circle,  may  be  helped  to  obtain  a  clearer  insight 
into  the  problems  involved,  and  to  catch  the  en- 
thusiasm which  has  been  the  spring  and  mainstay 
of  the  author's  labor.  My  satisfaction  will  be 
complete  if  I  have  been  able  to  show  convincingly 
that  music,  rightly  pursued,  is  not  only  an  addition 
to  the  gladness  of  life,  but  also  a  means  of  inward 
culture. 

In  the  course  of  the  past  few  years  an  ingenious 
iz 


PREFACE 

invention  has  brought  the  teaching  of  musical  ap- 
preciation within  the  reach  of  instructors  who  have 
sufficient  theoretical  knowledge.  It  has  made  all 
departments  of  musical  composition  in  a  certain 
degree  accessible  even  to  those  who  are  not  expert 
pianists.  I  refer  to  the  mechanical  piano  players, 
which  were  at  first  looked  upon  with  suspicion, 
and  often  with  abhorrence  by  professional  musi- 
cians, but  which  are  proving  themselves  an  agency 
of  immense  usefulness  in  diffusing  good  music 
among  the  people.  Those  who  employ  them  soon 
learn  that,  with  skilful  handling,  these  instruments 
are  capable  of  a  large  range  of  expression,  and 
require  musical  feeling  and  intelligence  for  their 
proper  handling.  Many  musicians  have  found  that 
it  is  not  beneath  their  dignity  to  give  instruction 
in  the  use  of  these  instruments  for  the  attainment 
of  a  correct  interpretation  of  master  works.  It 
seems  also  to  be  the  general  testimony  that  their 
wide  adoption  has  not  diminished  the  demand  for 
musical  instruction  by  the  old  established  methods. 
For  my  own  part  I  am  convinced  that  without  this 
invention  lecture  courses  in  the  history  and  criti- 
cism of  music  would  have  little  practical  benefit, 
for  it  is  self-evident  that  such  courses  are  worth- 
less without  abundant  illustration.  I  also  feel 
quite  certain  that  whatever  of  value  this  book 
may  contain  is  multiplied  many  times  by  the  op- 
portunities for  home  study  which  the  self-player 
affords  to  the  amateur. 

Some  of  my  readers  would  probably  find  my 


PREFACE 

book  practically  more  convenient  if  I  defined  some 
of  the  technical  terms  which  I  am  forced  to  use. 
This  will  be  the  case,  for  example,  in  the  division 
on  counterpoint,  where  fugues  are  mentioned  with- 
out explaining  what  fugues  are.  But  if  a  begin- 
ning were  made  in  defining  terms,  there  would  be 
no  end;  the  book  would  be  perverted  into  a  text 
book  and  a  dictionary.  The  few  technicalities 
employed  can  be  elucidated  by  means  of  any  of 
the  numerous  reference  books  that  are  always  at 
hand,  and  accommodating  musicians  are  never  far 
away. 

A  small  part  of  the  substance  of  this  volume  has 
been  used  in  a  series  of  articles  in  The  Musician 
for  1909,  and  in  an  address  before  the  Music 
Teachers'  National  Association  in  1906.  This 
material  has  been  rewritten;  by  far  the  greater 
part  is  entirely  new,  and  all  has  been  prepared 
under  the  guidance  afforded  by  actual  experience 
in  the  class  room. 

Northampton,  Mass., 
Augiist,  1 910. 


XI 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.    The  New  Musical  Education    .    .         .    .  i 

II.    The  Music  Lover's  Need  of  Education    .  i6 

III.  Definite  Hearing:   The  Problem  of  Form  39 

IV.  The  Beauty  of  Melody  and  Rhythm    .    .  69 
V.    The  Beauty  of  Harmony 89 

VI.    Performance:   The  Art  of  the  Pianist     .  102 

VII.    The  Art  of  Song:   Music  and  Poetry  .    .  142 

VIII.    The  Art  of  Song:  The  Technique  of  the 

Singer 171 

IX.    The  Problem  of  Expression:   Representa- 
tive Music 192 

X.    Musical  History  and  Biography   ....  234 

XI.    The  Music  Lover  and  the  Higher  Law   .  267 

Appendix 291 


CHAPTER   I 

THE   NEW   MUSICAL    EDUCATION 

Those  who  love  to  search  for  laws  and  parallels 
in  art  history  are  at  times  disposed  to  raise  the  dis- 
quieting question  if  the  flood  of  musical  energy,  that 
has  been  so  steadily  rising  during  the  past  three  or 
four  hundred  years,  has  not  reached  the  high-water 
mark,  or  even  already  begun  to  recede.  Not  in 
quantity,  certainly,  but  in  quality,  in  sheer  creative 
power.  The  history  of  art  is  the  history  of  growth, 
maturity  and  decline  —  not  in  the  productive  im- 
pulse at  large,  for  art  is  inseparably  identified  with 
human  progress,  but  in  its  several  epochs  and  de- 
partments. Greek  sculpture,  Gothic  architecture, 
Italian  Renaissance  painting,  Greek  and  English 
dramatic  poetry,  have  each  in  turn  exhibited  the 
working  of  that  destiny,  beyond  the  control  of  men 
of  genius,  which  decrees  that  every  achievement  of 
the  human  spirit  shall  sooner  or  later  exhaust  its 
primal  impulse  and  sink  into  stagnation,  or  else  into 
vain  repetitions  of  forms  from  which  all  freshness  of 
energy  has  departed.  Are  there  any  signs  that  the 
arresting  hand  of  fate  has  likewise  been  laid  upon 
the  art  of  tone? 


THE  EDUCATION   OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

Music  has  been  the  latest  of  the  arts  to  reach 
maturity.  So  wonderful  have  been  its  achieve- 
ments that,  judging  from  analogy,  it  is  hardly 
to  be  expected  that  the  triumphs  of  Palestrina 
and  Bach  in  church  music,  Beethoven  in  the  sym- 
phony, Handel  in  the  oratorio,  Schubert  in  the 
song,  Chopin  in  piano  music,  and  Mozart  and 
Wagner  in  the  opera  can  be  indefinitely  repeated. 
Up  to  a  recent  period  we  see  a  progressive  evolu- 
tion of  forms  and  styles.  Palestrina  and  his  con- 
temporaries. Bach,  Handel,  Beethoven,  Schubert, 
Wagner  adopted  forms  that  were  immature  and 
raised  them  to  fulness  of  strength.  Liszt  and  Ber- 
lioz saw  the  promise  in  an  old  idea,  gave  it  final 
validity  and  contrived  for  it  a  new  form  and  method. 
Haydn,  Weber,  Grieg,  and  the  later  Russians  went 
back  to  the  native  music  of  the  common  people  and 
found  there  an  inspiration  that  issued  in  works  of 
novel  and  exquisite  quahty.  Schumann  and  Cho- 
pin discovered  undreamed-of  capacities  in  an  instru- 
ment already  old.  Movements  parallel  to  these  we 
cannot  discover  in  our  day.  The  classic  forms  have 
been  worked  out.  The  promises  of  the  East  and 
North,  which  a  generation  ago  stirred  us  with  the 
hope  of  another  musical  springtime,  have  not  yet 
been  fulfilled  —  Tchaikovsky,  Dvorak,  and  Grieg 
still  have  no  peers  among  their  younger  compatriots. 
A  critic  of  little  faith  would  be  inclined  to  echo  the 
sigh  of  Mallarme:  "The  flesh  is  sad,  alas!  and  all 
the  books  are  read." 

Certain  phenomena,  indeed,  suggest  the  approach 

2 


THE  NEW  MUSICAL  EDUCATION 

of  a  period  of  decadence.  The  spontaneity,  the 
freshness,  the  directness  and  inevitableness  of  utter- 
ance which  distinguish  the  work  of  the  men  I  have 
mentioned,  and  indeed  of  the  older  masters  in  gen- 
eral, are  certainly  not  the  obvious  features  in  the 
output  of  the  leading  composers  of  the  present  gen- 
eration. Music  has  become  sophisticated  and  self- 
conscious.  Complication  of  structure,  harmonic 
strain  and  stress,  superabundance  of  discord,  glar- 
ing contrasts,  frantic  appeals  to  raw  nervous  sensa- 
tion, strive  to  compensate  for  a  deficiency  in  vital, 
original  melodic  ideas.  There  is  an  extreme  em- 
phasis upon  virtuosity  and  technical  elaboration, 
which  is  always  an  unfavorable  symptom  in  art. 
Music  seems  to  distrust  its  own  inherent  power  to 
satisfy  and  strives  to  draw  attention  by  illustrating 
pictorial  or  literary  subjects,  often  with  a  strong 
attraction  toward  the  extravagant  and  morbid. 
Composers  in  increasing  numbers  are  possessed  by 
the  craving  for  critical  self-analysis.  They  work 
with  calculation.  They  invent  theories  which  they 
and  their  disciples  proclaim  with  tongue  and  pen. 
They  often  seem  to  go  out  in  deliberate  search  after 
originality;  they  ask  not,  Is  this  worth  saying?  but, 
Has  it  been  said  before?  In  striving  to  expand 
their  art,  composers  of  the  school  of  Strauss  and 
Mahler  appear  to  have  their  minds  intent  not  so 
much  upon  the  discovery  of  greater  and  nobler 
ideas  as  upon  more  gigantic  means  of  expressing 
their  ideas.  Individual  freedom,  the  supreme  con- 
quest of  nineteenth-century  art,  is  after  all  paying 

3 


THE  EDUCATION   OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

its  price.  There  is  no  longer  a  consciousness  of 
mutual  support,  such  as  the  Renaissance  painters 
found  in  submission  to  a  prolific  common  tendency. 
Even  the  most  sincere  and  moderate  of  the  later 
composers  are  reflective,  distinctly  aware  of  the 
method  and  purpose  of  their  mental  operations. 
They  rarely  yield  in  unquestioning  surrender  to  the 
guardian  genius  which  drives  the  artist  whither  he 
knows  not. 

It  would  be  rash  to  assert  that  these  appearances 
are  necessarily  signs  of  impending  decrepitude. 
They  may  indicate  the  need  of  a  period  of  rest  and 
recuperation,  of  reaction  toward  the  simpler  ideals 
of  an  earlier  time.  Perhaps,  on  the  other  hand, 
they  indicate  that  new  materials  are  being  gathered 
for  the  use  of  strong  men  soon  to  come.  The  har- 
monic experiments  of  the  Debussys  and  Ravels, 
like  the  experiments  of  the  Impressionists  with 
pigments  and  of  the  Symbolists  with  words,  may 
prove  the  means  of  enlarging  the  technique  for 
the  service  of  wider  expression.  But  at  any  rate 
the  youthful  period  of  music  is  past,  and  the  art  has 
attained  full  strength  and  stature.  The  only  ques- 
tion is,  how  long  will  the  period  of  maturity  last? 
Will  new  nations  —  our  own  perhaps,  an  emanci- 
pated Russia,  or  it  may  be  the  awakening  peoples 
of  the  Orient  —  applying  the  fully  developed  Euro- 
pean technique  to  ageless  stores  of  emotional  expe- 
rience, instil  into  the  veins  of  music  a  new  energy 
which  centuries  only  can  exhaust? 

Those  who  look  for  a  check  in  the  progress  of 

4 


THE  NEW  MUSICAL  EDUCATION 

music  on  the  creative  side  may  easily  console  them- 
selves by  the  thought  that  there  is  no  sign  of  abate- 
ment in  the  spread  of  its  beneficent  influence. 
Whether  or  not  the  works  of  the  past  are  to  be 
equalled  or  excelled,  the  problem  of  the  adaptation 
of  music  to  the  spiritual  and  intellectual  needs  of 
men  still  waits  for  solution.  An  epoch  of  fuller 
knowledge  and  appreciation  on  the  part  of  both 
musicians  and  the  public  seems  plainly  to  be  at 
hand.  The  waning  of  the  productive  energy  would 
not  be  altogether  a  cause  for  lament  if  thereby 
the  world  could  be  turned  to  a  deeper  love  and 
understanding  of  the  treasures  it  already  possesses. 
And  the  grounds  for  such  hope  are  multiplying 
daily.  There  can  be  no  question  that  the  sum  of 
musical  intelligence  is  vastly  greater  the  world  over 
than  it  was  fifty  years  ago.  In  the  very  midst  of 
the  era  of  artistic  fecundity  the  epoch  of  scholar- 
ship and  enlightenment  has  become  established. 
The  nineteenth  century  has  seen  the  founding  of 
many  musical  educational  institutions,  adminis- 
tered in  accordance  with  the  highest  standards 
of  discipline  and  research.  Every  department  of 
musical  history,  aesthetics,  science,  and  technical 
application  has  been  investigated  by  scholars  of 
Germany,  France,  England,  and  other  countries 
with  an  exactness,  a  precision,  and  a  breadth  of 
vision  that  are  not  surpassed  in  any  field  of  learned 
inquiry.  The  methods  of  teaching  in  composition 
and  performance  have  been  reconstituted  on  a 
basis  of  thoroughness  which  leaves  nothing  to  be 

5 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

desired,  except  that  constant  revision  and  refine- 
ment of  method  which  in  music  as  in  all  education 
is  an  endless  process.  Text  books  and  treatises 
on  every  conceivable  musical  subject  increase  be- 
yond all  computation.  The  great  composers  are 
subjected  to  an  exhaustive  review,  ranging  from 
minutest  textual  examination  to  emotional  inter- 
pretation. This  spirit  of  earnestness  is  pervading 
all  classes.  The  provincial  music  teacher  has 
caught  the  contagion  and  the  desire  for  accuracy 
and  system  is  spreading  to  the  musical  frontiers, 
revolutionizing  the  whole  scheme  of  musical  in- 
struction. "Twenty-five  years  ago,"  says  a  recent 
English  writer,  "what  were  called  'lessons'  were 
given,  as  they  are  now;  but  in  the  old  days,  while 
the  lessons  were  given,  nothing  was  taught.  Music 
was  not  part  of  a  serious  education;  it  was  a 
fashionable  accomplishment.  .  .  .  Such  a  method, 
if  method  it  may  be  called  which  was  none,  is  now 
changed  for  a  full,  rational,  and  liberal  study,  car- 
ried on  just  as  thoroughly,  as  intellectually,  and 
as  systematically  as  in  any  other  serious  branch  of 
learning."  Not  less  remarkable  has  been  the  edu- 
cational progress  in  music  in  this  country.  The 
advance  that  has  been  made  in  the  last  thirty  years 
is  little  short  of  revolutionary.  The  true  meas- 
ure of  the  nation's  advancement  toward  the 
proud  distinction  of  being  a  musical  people  does 
not  consist  in  the  number  of  operas  given  in  New 
York  in  a  season,  nor  in  Paderewski's  income  from 
a  single  concert  tour,  nor  even  in  the  amount  of 

6 


THE  NEW  MUSICAL  EDUCATION 

respectable  compositions  produced  by  native  musi- 
cians, but  rather  in  the  extent  to  which  good  music 
is  becoming  a  necessity  in  the  Hfe  of  the  community. 
Accepting  such  a  standard  there  is  every  reason 
for  gratification  and  hope.  Those  who  love  music 
for  what  is  best  in  it  are  rapidly  increasing  in 
number.  The  educative  value  of  music  is  widely 
recognized.  Performers,  directors,  and  teachers  find 
every  day  more  encouragement  for  solid  work.  The 
musical  magazines  that  devote  themselves  to 
strictly  educational  questions  receive  generous  sup- 
port. Publishing  houses  find  a  large  demand  for 
critical  works  on  musical  subjects  of  every  de- 
scription. Men  of  superior  mental  attainments 
are  giving  themselves  in  increasing  numbers  to 
the  service  of  the  higher  musical  propaganda. 
Through  the  wide  world  of  musical  dilettantism 
is  felt  the  bracing  influence  of  a  better  purpose. 
It  is  easy  to  overlook  these  signs  of  promise  in  view 
of  the  vast  abundance  of  musical  vulgarity,  en- 
couraged and  delighted  in  by  multitudes  both  high 
and  low.  The  cheap  graphophone,  the  vaudeville, 
the  musical  comedy  and  the  "popular"  song  seem 
to  many  observers  representative  of  the  musical 
taste  of  the  future  as  well  as  of  the  present.  In  the 
babel  of  discordant  sounds  the  voices  of  those  who 
proclaim  the  gospel  of  sweetness  and  light  in  mu- 
sical art  often  sound  faltering  and  far  away.  But 
over  against  this  wide-spread  satisfaction  with  the 
tawdry  and  vulgar  must  always  be  recognized  that 
conspicuous  trait  in  the  American  character  upon 

7 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

which  reformers  of  every  sort  have  learned  to  rely 
—  an  intellectual  unrest,  a  craving  for  new  ideas, 
a  respect  for  things  of  the  mind,  a  readiness  to  be 
led  in  the  direction  of  better  individual  and  social 
accomplishment.  The  progress  of  music  in  Amer- 
ica is  simply  a  detail  of  the  rapid  advancement  in 
the  appreciation  of  fine  art,  and  its  application  in 
the  adornment  of  pubhc  and  private  life,  which 
is  one  of  the  most  auspicious  phenomena  of  the 
present  day.  Let  any  one  read  a  few  pages  in 
the  history  of  American  music,  compare  the  pro- 
grams of  Thalberg  in  the  '50's  with  those  of  Pad- 
erewski  in  the  '90's,  observe  the  results  of  the 
missionary  labors  of  such  men  as  Lowell  Mason, 
Theodore  Thomas,  Carl  Zerrahn,  and  Thomas 
Ryan,  glance  over  the  musical  programs  of  our 
leading  churches  and  compare  them  with  the  prac- 
tice of  forty  years  ago,  count  the  catalogues  of  the 
music  schools  and  peruse  their  contents,  note  the 
increase  of  orchestras  and  choral  societies,  learn 
what  some  of  our  cities  are  doing  for  the  musical 
welfare  of  the  people,  consider  the  attention  that  is 
given  to  music  in  the  public  schools  and  colleges, 
try  to  form  an  estimate  of  the  number  of  musical 
clubs  and  the  measure  of  their  influence.  After 
such  a  survey  no  excuse  could  be  found  for  dis- 
couragement on  the  part  of  any  one  who  is  en- 
gaged in  the  effort  to  make  music  a  living  force  in 
national  life. 

As  a  result  of  these  tendencies  of  the  last  few 
decades,  musical  education  in  this  country  has  now 

S 


THE  NEW  MUSICAL  EDUCATION 

entered  upon  a  new  stage  of  its  career.  Having 
reformed  its  methods,  elevated  its  standards,  and 
thrown  wider  the  doors  of  opportunity,  all  in  the 
interest  of  the  special  student,  it  is  now  turning  its 
favor  toward  those  who  stand  outside  the  ranks  of 
those  who  would  play,  sing,  or  compose,  the  noble 
company  upon  whom  music  depends  for  its  pat- 
ronage, the  expectant  majority  represented  by  the 
dilettante,  the  amateur,  the  actual  or  potential  mu- 
sic lover.  It  is  shaping  its  plans  and  adjusting  its 
methods  with  a  view  to  the  extension  of  taste  and 
appreciation  among  the  people.  Its  ultimate  pur- 
pose is  to  promote  intelligent  musical  enjoyment 
as  a  factor  in  popular  education. 

In  the  history  of  music  up  to  a  recent  time  the 
cultivation  of  taste  on  the  part  of  the  public,  and 
even  on  the  part  of  individual  pupils,  has  com- 
monly been  left  to  take  care  of  itself,  as  a  sort 
of  by-product  rather  than  a  primary  intention. 
Training  has  been  directed  toward  what  is  called 
"practical"  musical  instruction,  viz.  playing,  sing- 
ing, and  composing.  Systematic  cultivation  of  aes- 
thetic taste  in  schools  and  colleges  by  means  of  the 
critical  study  of  masterworks  has  been  confined  to 
literature,  perhaps  because  literature  is  a  form  of 
expression  with  which  every  educated  person  comes 
into  personal  relations  in  the  natural  order  of  his 
life.  In  the  English-speaking  countries  this  has  es- 
pecially been  the  case,  for  the  artists  around  whom 
patriotic  pride  has  gathered  have  been,  with  a 
few  exceptions,  poets   and  novelists,  rather  than 

9 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

painters,  sculptors,  or  composers.  The  conception 
of  art  is  very  largely  made  to  conform  to  a  literary 
standard;  art,  it  is  thought,  must  convey  "ideas," 
by  which  is  meant  lessons,  appeals,  admonitions 
that  can  also  be  expressed  in  words;  pictorial  or 
musical  impressions  are  esteemed  of  minor  signifi- 
cance, and  the  inevitable  inclination  is  to  translate 
them  into  verbal  terms,  under  a  sort  of  blind  no- 
tion that  to  do  so  gives  them  a  practical  instead  of 
a  questionable  value.  The  result  has  been  that  the 
great  majority  of  those  who  deal  with  music  only 
as  hearers  have  been  left  to  gain  what  knowledge 
and  taste  they  could  by  the  casual  attendance  upon 
concerts  and  opera  performances,  and  by  reading 
musical  criticisms  in  the  newspapers.  The  latter 
means  of  enlightenment  is  manifestly  incomplete, 
since  musical  reviews  in  the  daily  press  are  con- 
cerned with  the  merit  and  demerit  of  performances 
or  of  new  compositions — that  is,  the  application  of 
general  principles  to  concrete  cases — almost  never 
with  the  discussion  of  the  general  principles  them- 
selves. Consequently  the  history  of  music  shows 
us  by  a  thousand  instances — often  very  melan- 
choly instances — that  the  taste  of  the  public  has 
usually  acted  as  a  drag  upon  musical  progress. 
Appreciation  of  art  must  always,  of  course,  lag 
behind  artistic  creation;  it  is  one  aspect  of  that 
conservative  element  in  the  human  compound 
which,  as  a  check  upon  overhasty  radicalism,  is 
an  undoubted  advantage  to  the  race.  None  the 
less  are  popular  ignorance  and  prejudice  in  matters 

10 


THE  NEW  MUSICAL  EDUCATION 

of  reason  and  imagination  to  be  deplored,  and  a 
movement  to  develop  an  appreciation  of  what  is 
beautiful  and  profitable  in  art  must  certainly,  to 
employ  the  threadbare  phrase  of  the  newspapers, 
"meet  a  long  felt  want" 

This  movement  is  now  well  under  headway  and 
its  promoters  cannot  be  accused  of  a  lack  of  zeal. 
A  well  known  critic  writes  a  book  entitled  "How 
to  Listen  to  Music,"  parallel  to  those  useful  man- 
uals, "How  to  Study  Pictures"  and  "The  Appre- 
ciation of  Sculpture."  Another  pubHshes  a  vol- 
ume in  answer  to  the  question,  "What  is  Good 
Music?"  Two  others  explain  essentials  of  form 
under  the  title,  "The  Appreciation  of  Music." 
These  works  are  but  samples  of  a  whole  library 
aiming  directly  or  indirectly  at  a  similar  purpose. 
The  musical  magazines  are  giving  larger  space  to 
matters  of  broad  musical  culture  as  compared 
with  the  discussion  of  pedagogic  subjects,  and 
the  literary  periodicals  are  feehng  the  stress  of  this 
new  interest.  Musicians  everywhere  are  adding 
instruction  in  criticism  and  interpretation  to  their 
office  as  practical  trainers.  Already  specialists 
in  this  new  field  are  beginning  to  appear.  Most 
significant  and  promising  of  all,  this  department 
of  education  is  planting  its  feet  in  universities, 
colleges,  seminaries,  and  public  schools.  It  has 
been  discovered  that  a  critical  discrimination  can 
be  imparted  in  respect  to  music  as  well  as  in 
literature,  and  by  analogous  methods;  and  with 
the  influence  of  institutions  of  learning  thrown  into 

II 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

the  scale  the  hope  for  the  advancement  of  a  higher 
musical  culture  among  the  educated  classes  rises 
to  confidence.  With  music  becoming  a  national 
concern,  administrators  of  colleges  and  schools  find 
it  a  part  of  their  duty  to  direct  it,  so  far  as  lies 
within  their  power  over  young  minds,  toward  the 
ends  of  individual  and  collective  benefit. 

It  was  unquestionably  their  doubt  in  regard  to 
the  intellectual  and  disciplinary  value  of  music 
that  so  long  hindered  school  boards  and  college 
trustees  from  uniting  musical  instruction  with  their 
orthodox  schemes  of  classroom  and  laboratory 
work.  They  said  implicitly  to  the  music  teachers 
of  the  country:  Gentlemen,  show  us  that  your 
methods  are  based  on  thoroughly  scientific  founda- 
tions and  that  the  results  furnish  a  fair  parallel 
to  those  that  are  expected  from  the  established 
school  and  college  courses,  and  then  we  will  con- 
sider the  question  of  opening  our  doors.  This 
the  leaders  of  musical  education  have  done.  The 
long  resistance  of  college  and  school  has  begun  to 
yield.  The  question  now  is  not  whether  music  is 
worthy  of  admission  to  the  academic  precincts, 
but  exactly  what  office  shall  be  assigned  to  her 
in  cooperation  with  the  classic  sisterhood  of  arts 
and  sciences.  The  institutions  that  have  taken 
music  into  their  folds  have  already  divided  her  ser- 
vice into  two  departments  —  she  is  used  as  a  means 
of  promoting  aesthetic  culture  and  appreciation 
among  many,  as  well  as  training  productive  and 
executive  faculties  on  the  part  of  a  few. 

12 


THE   NEW  MUSICAL  EDUCATION 

All  college  studies  are  contained  in  two  classes 
—  vocational  studies  and  culture  studies.  Music, 
by  its  very  nature,  belongs  to  both.  As  this  whole 
book  is  devoted  to  music  as  a  culture  study,  the 
distinction  between  the  two  classes  need  not  be 
enlarged  upon  here.  Neither  does  it  seem  to 
me  to  require  argument  to  prove  that  the  dissem- 
ination of  good  taste  in  art  is  an  obligation  upon 
college  and  school.  If  such  argument  is  needed, 
there  is  no  better  summary  than  that  of  President 
Frederick  Burk  of  the  San  Francisco  State  Normal 
School.  "The  world,"  he  says,  "uses  vocations 
as  a  means  of  bread  winning,  but  the  world  also 
uses  music,  art,  literature,  the  drama  just  as  in- 
tensely, just  as  essentially,  just  as  relevantly. 
Because  the  world  uses  religion,  art,  music,  the 
drama,  civic  ideals,  etc.,  these  are  as  legitimate  and 
important  goals  of  education  as  bread  winning." 

This  interest  in  the  extension  of  musical  appre- 
ciation, once  taking  root  as  a  conviction,  becomes 
an  enthusiasm.  It  is  by  no  means  confined  to 
university  circles.  Nowhere  is  it  more  beautifully 
manifested  than  among  the  noble  group  of  obscure 
private  teachers,  who  at  stated  times  gather  their 
little  company  of  pupils  and  talk  to  them  on  the 
deeper  things  of  their  art.  This  is  indeed  a  service 
that  "blesseth  him  that  gives  and  him  that  takes." 

There  is  no  need  to  search  for  the  motives  that 
impel  so  many  teachers,  lecturers,  and  magazine 
writers  to  preach  the  pure  gospel  of  musical  art, 
but  I  love  to  think  that  here  is  shown  one  phase 

13 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

of  the  humanitarian  movement  of  the  time.  In 
every  earnest  heart  there  is  an  instinctive  desire 
to  communicate  to  others  its  own  experiences  of 
good.  And  so  when  music  is  felt  by  one  of  its 
votaries  to  be  a  source  of  unalloyed  happiness  and 
purification  of  spirit  he  is  fired  with  something 
like  a  missionary  zeal.  He  catches  the  philan- 
thropic vibration  that  is  abroad  in  the  air.  He 
too  would  be  a  social  benefactor.  He  would 
bring  the  sweet  companionship  of  music  into  the 
common  life  as  a  means  of  effecting  a  closer  fel- 
lowship of  minds  in  the  higher  regions  of  sentiment. 
"We  who  care  deeply  about  the  arts,"  says  the 
Irish  poet,  William  Butler  Yeats,  "find  ourselves 
the  priesthood  of  an  almost  forgotten  faith,  and 
we  must,  I  think,  if  we  would  win  the  people 
again,  take  upon  ourselves  the  method  and  the 
fervor  of  a  priesthood."  It  is  well  said,  and  those 
who  are  girding  themselves  for  this  high  service  of 
proselytism  may  well  bethink  themselves  of  their 
qualification  for  the  mission.  Consecration — yes,  a 
priest  must  have  that,  together  with  a  willingness 
to  undergo  resistance,  indifference,  and  the  trials 
of  hope  deferred.  But  he  must  likewise  possess 
knowledge  and  wisdom — knowledge  of  the  truth 
he  teaches  so  that  his  own  faith  will  not  be  shaken, 
knowledge  of  the  needs  and  aptitudes  of  those 
among  whom  he  labors,  and  the  wisdom  which 
enables  him  to  adapt  the  means  to  the  end,  and  to 
seek  that  end  on  the  higher  levels  and  not  the 
lower. 

14 


THE  NEW  MUSICAL  EDUCATION 

Let  us  go  on,  then,  to  consider  what  are  the  prob- 
lems involved  and  the  methods  by  which  a  better 
and  more  accurate  understanding  of  the  joyful 
mysteries  of  music  can  be  imparted  to  those  who 
desire  a  fuller  experience  of  the  pleasures  and  ben- 
efits of  musical  art. 


15 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  MUSIC  LOVER'S  NEED  OF 
EDUCATION 

The  necessity  of  instruction  in  the  art  of  hear- 
ing music  can  hardly  be  denied  by  one  who  thinks 
about  the  matter.  It  is  not  alone  the  "masses" 
who  are  ignorant,  and  in  their  ignorance  judge 
foolishly.  A  large  number  who  call  themselves 
educated  must  be  included  among  those  who  are 
outside  the  kingdom  of  music.  The  scorn  of  the 
musical  experts  for  the  taste  of  those  they  serve 
has  been,  and  is  even  now,  more  or  less  outspoken, 
and  it  would  require  a  wide  stretch  of  charity  to 
say  that  it  has  not  been  justified.  The  history  of 
musical  patronage,  so  often  clogging  the  wheels  of 
achievement,  is  a  painful  one  when  it  is  observed 
how  many  of  the  noblest  spirits  in  the  realm  of  art 
have  suffered  and  even  perished  because  of  public 
dulness  or  intolerance.  There  has  certainly  been  a 
vast  improvement;  there  is  immense  encourage- 
ment to  be  found  by  comparing  the  records  of  the 
present  with  the  annals  of,  say,  fifty  or  seventy- 
five  years  ago;  then  far  more  than  now  empty 
virtuosity  flourished  without  check  and  with  little 

i6 


THE  NEED   OF  EDUCATION 

rebuke.  But  still,  if  it  were  possible  to  apply  tests 
among  the  habitues  of  opera  houses  and  concert 
halls  by  which  those  could  be  discovered  who 
perceive  in  music  its  central  qualities  as  fine  art, 
refusing  to  be  deceived  by  the  sensational,  tem- 
porary, and  meretricious,  a  sanguine  investigator 
would  probably  experience  sad  disillusion.  It  is 
the  conclusion  of  one  of  the  foremost  American  mu- 
sical authorities,  after  a  quarter  of  a  century  of 
observation,  that  among  the  frequenters  of  musi- 
cal performances  hardly  one  in  a  thousand  knows 
what  good  playing  or  singing  really  is.  This,  of 
course,  is  an  exaggeration,  thrown  out  in  one  of 
those  dark  hours  which  sometimes  come  to  the 
musical  illuminati  when  for  a  whole  season,  seated 
upon  the  Olympian  heights  of  criticism,  they 
have  surveyed  the  delusions  of  the  populace  below. 
But  it  is  sufficiently  near  the  truth  to  pass  with 
only  a  moderate  qualification.  Now  if  the  ele- 
ments of  good  performance,  which  are  really  so 
simple  and  obvious,  are  unknown  to  the  average 
concert  goer,  how  much  more  certain  is  it  that  the 
criteria  of  merit  in  composition  will  be  obscure  to 
him.  A  high  degree  of  intelligence  in  other  de- 
partments of  art  is  no  guarantee  of  musical  under- 
standing. Underlying  the  ignorance  of  musical 
principles  is  the  fundamental  ignorance  that  music 
has  any  principles  that  are  necessary  to  be  known 
by  one  who  lays  claim  to  culture.  Music  suffers 
like  the  drama  from  the  common  use  of  it  among 
intelligent  people  for  recreation  and  amusement, 

17 


THE  EDUCATION   OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

rather  than  as  something  intellectually  profitable 
and  demanding  serious  mental  application  as  its 
right.  No  one  can  enjoy  a  feeling  of  ease  in  culti- 
vated society  who  has  not  at  least  a  casual  acquaint- 
ance with  the  great  poets  and  romancers,  and  an 
impression  of  the  work  of  the  chief  painters  and 
sculptors  of  the  world.  An  utter  lack  of  acquaint- 
ance with  the  masters  of  music,  however,  is  often 
the  ground  for  complacency  or  even  of  pride.  A 
recent  work  on  aesthetics  by  a  well-known  univer- 
sity professor  contains  a  blunder  on  a  point  of 
music  which  would  certainly  not  have  been  par- 
alleled if  a  matter  connected  with  literature  or 
any  other  department  of  art  had  been  in  question. 
Bruneau  tells  us  that  it  was  quite  characteristic 
of  the  taste  of  the  period  that  when  Rossini's 
"Otcllo"  was  produced  in  Paris  (the  first  per- 
formance was  in  182 1),  nobody  objected  to  the 
bacchic  joy  of  the  songs,  the  delirious  gayety  of  the 
orchestra,  the  nonsense  of  the  vocalises  applied 
during  three  acts  to  the  terrible  drama  of  hatred 
and  love.  Even  literary  men,  like  Lamartine,  de 
Musset,  and  Stendhal,  who  knew  and  admired 
Shakespeare,  were  fired  with  enthusiasm  at  the 
representations  of  this  parody  of  the  venerable 
masterpiece.  Rossini's  "Otello"  is  long  dead  and 
no  works  of  its  kind  are  likely  to  appear  again, 
but  the  literati  can  hardly  take  credit  to  themselves 
for  the  prevalence  of  a  taste  which  prefers  the 
"Otello"  of  Verdi  to  its  predecessor. 

When  it  comes  to  a  comprehension  of  music  as 
18 


THE  NEED   OF  EDUCATION 

a  fine  art  a  large  proportion  of  the  literary  class 
are  represented  either  by  Dr.  Johnson  or  by  Bos- 
well.  When  the  great  lexicographer  was  seventy- 
one  years  of  age  he  chanced  one  day  to  hear  some 
funeral  music,  and  remarked  that  it  was  the  first 
time  that  he  had  ever  been  affected  by  musical 
sounds.  Boswell  was  more  susceptible.  "I  told 
him,"  said  the  faithful  scribe  on  another  occasion, 
"that  music  affected  me  to  such  a  degree  as  often 
to  agitate  my  nerves  painfully,  producing  in  my 
mind  alternate  sensations  of  painful  dejection,  so 
that  I  was  ready  to  shed  tears;  or  of  daring  reso- 
lution, so  that  I  was  inclined  to  rush  into  the 
thickest  part  of  the  battle."  "Sir,"  said  Johnson, 
"I  should  never  hear  it  if  it  made  me  such  a  fool." 
Between  Johnson's  indifference  and  Boswell's 
sentimental  excitability  the  wise  man  would,  per- 
haps, find  little  to  choose.  The  true  nature  of 
music's  virtue  probably  had  never  dawned  upon 
either  of  them.  Boswell,  indeed,  possessed  a 
source  of  pleasure  unknown  to  his  friend,  but  his 
nervous  explosions  would  hardly  leave  any  very 
valuable  deposit  behind  them.  If  he  described  his 
mental  condition  accurately  the  effect  of  music  upon 
him  was  of  the  most  indefinite  and  transient  char- 
acter. And  so  it  is  upon  the  minds  of  a  vast 
number  of  people  who  call  themselves  musical,  and 
give  concerts  and  operas  their  regular  attendance. 
The  impression  they  receive  is  hardly  more  dis- 
tinct than  that  of  a  succession  of  perfumes;  the 
subsequent  memory  is  that  of  something  exhila- 

19 


THE  EDUCATION   OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

rating  but  vague,  like  a  last  week's  display  of  fire- 
works. Outside  of  the  hall  or  theatre  they  give  no 
study  to  the  scientific  principles  of  musical  art  or 
its  psychologic  reactions,  and  consequently  their 
judgments,  if  that  term  can  properly  be  applied, 
are  unconsidered  and  usually  perverse,  since  they 
are  touched  off  by  the  mere  nerve  stimulation  of 
the  instant.  Such  indulgences  in  pleasant  sound 
have,  indeed,  a  value  to  those  who  come  jaded  with 
prosaic  toil;  like  coolness  after  summer  heat  they 
bring  repose  and  refreshment  and  are  vastly  to  be 
preferred  to  many  of  the  fashionable  distractions 
of  the  hour.  But  to  one  who  knows  the  benefits 
which  music  can  impart — that  its  tonic  proper- 
ties have  it  in  them  to  restore  the  worn  spirit  and 
inform  and  enrich  the  mind  at  the  same  time— 
there  comes  often  a  feeling  of  pain  that  the  greater 
good  should  not  be  enjoyed  at  the  same  time  with 
the  lesser. 

Among  those  who  receive  music  in  a  general 
way  there  is  a  class  of  minds,  very  serious  and 
philosophical,  to  whom  the  very  vagueness  of  these 
diffused  impressions  seems  the  condition  of  the 
most  inspiring  communications.  These  thinkers, 
mystical  in  temperament  and  introspective  in  habit, 
discern  in  music  a  spiritual  suggestion  more  elo- 
quent than  speech,  whose  very  indefiniteness  and 
unreality  impart  to  it  a  sublimated  value.  In 
many  such  cases  the  effect  upon  the  imagination 
seems  in  inverse  ratio  to  the  amount  of  artistic  con- 
trivance involved  in  the  music;   the  mere  physical 

20 


THE  NEED   OF  EDUCATION 

sensation  of  tone  even  with  slight  dynamic  fluctua- 
tions is  sufficient  to  produce  powerful  emotional 
reaction.  To  Thoreau  any  sound  that  could  be 
called  musical  disturbed  his  thought  with  a  sense 
of  something  ineffable.  A  music  box  is  tinkling 
near  by,  and  he  writes  in  his  Journal:  "I  feel  a 
sad  cheer  when  I  hear  those  lofty  strains,  because 
there  must  be  something  in  me  as  lofty  that  hears." 
Again  he  confesses:  "I  hear  one  thrumming  a  gui- 
tar below  stairs.  It  reminds  me  of  moments  that  I 
have  lived.  What  a  comment  upon  our  life  is  the 
least  strain  of  music!  It  lifts  me  above  the  mire 
and  dust  of  the  universe.  .  .  .  Ninety-nine  one- 
hundredths  of  our  lives  we  are  mere  hedgers  and 
ditchers,  but  from  time  to  time  we  meet  with  re- 
minders of  our  destiny.  We  hear  the  kindred  vi- 
brations, music!  and  we  put  our  dormant  feelers 
into  the  limits  of  the  universe.  We  attain  to  wis- 
dom that  passeth  understanding."  Two  days 
later  he  makes  this  entry:  "What  is  there  in 
music  that  it  should  so  stir  our  deeps?  Suppose 
I  try  to  describe  faithfully  the  prospect  which  a 
strain  of  music  exhibits  to  me.  The  field  of  my 
life  becomes  a  boundless  plain,  glorious  to  tread, 
with  no  death  nor  disappointment  at  the  end  of  it. 
All  meanness  and  trivialness  disappear." 

To  this  man  who  had  kept  his  sensibilities  so 
delicate  and  pure,  so  responsive  to  every  touch  of 
nature,  the  mere  impact  of  tone  upon  the  ear  was 
equivalent  to  an  ecstasy.  The  "telegraph  harp" 
contained    the   essence   of   symphonies   and   ora- 

21 


THE   EDUCATION   OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

torios  and  made  them  superfluous.  Reading  these 
testimonies  of  Thoreau  we  can  in  a  measure  under- 
stand how  to  the  Greek  philosophers  the  simplest 
unharmonized  strains  contributed  to  ethical  and 
emotional  culture,  and  thus  had  a  place  in  the 
scheme  of  education. 

To  a  philosophic  poet  like  Browning,  who  united 
the  gift  of  intuitive  vision  with  a  rare  power  of  re- 
flective analysis,  the  sounds  of  music  excite  con- 
jecture over  the  ultimate  cause  of  that  rapture 
which  no  other  art  can  arouse  in  equal  measure. 
In  "Parleyings"  with  Charles  Avison,  Browning 
speaks  what  is  thus  far  the  last  word  in  occult 
musical  interpretation.  Music  reveals  the  Soul  — 
the  sum  of  those  mysterious  faculties  that  compose 
the  subconscious  personality;  Mind  works  con- 
sciously, builds  up  knowledge  with  the  facts  of  ex- 
perience, as  an  engineer  builds  a  bridge  over  a 
gulf,  laying  stone  upon  stone.  Beneath  rolls  some- 
thing that  Mind  may  hide  but  not  tame — "Soul, 
the  unsounded  sea,"  whose  "lift  of  surge"  brings 
feeling  from  out  the  depths  which  Mind  cannot 
master.     Mind's  processes  are  easy  to  describe; 

"But  Soul's  sea  —  drawn  whence, 
Fed  how,  forced  whither,  —  by  what  evidence 
Of  ebb  and  flow,  that's  felt  beneath  the  tread, 
Soul  has  its  course  'neath  Mind's  work  overhead,  — 
Who  tells  of,  tracks  to  source  the  founts  of  Soul  ? 

"To  match  and  mate 
Feeling  with  knowledge,  —  make  as  manifest 

22 


THE  NEED   OF  EDUCATION 

Soul's  work  as  Mind's  work,  turbulence  as  rest, 
Hates,  loves,  joys,  woes,  hopes,  fears  that  rise  and 

sink 
Ceaselessly.  .  .  . 

"To  strike  all  this  life  dead, 
Run  mercury  into  a  mould  like  lead. 
And  henceforth  have  the  plain  result  to  show  — 
How  we  Feel  hard  and  fast  as  what  we  Know  — 
This  were  the  prize  and  is  the  puzzle !  —  which 
Music  essays  to  solve." 

Music  comes  nearest  to  realizing  the  desire  of 
all  art,  to  make  the  work  of  the  Soul  as  manifest 
as  the  work  of  the  Mind;  she  seems  about  to  give 
momentary  feeling  permanence,  to  unveil  our  hid- 
den impulses  and  motives;  but  the  very  essence  of 
her  nature,  her  fluidity  and  quick  vanishing  into 
the  impalpable  inane,  forbids. 

"Could  music  rescue  thus  from  Soul's  profound, 
Give  Feeling  immortality  by  sound. 
Then  were  she  queenliest  of  arts.     Alas  — 
As  well  expect  the  rainbow  not  to  pass." 

Lafcadio  Hearn,  convinced  of  the  Buddhist  doc- 
trine of  metempsychosis,  is  drawn  by  music  into 
the  illimitable  ocean  of  Being  composed  of  billions 
of  pre-natal  memories.  "To  every  ripple  of  mel- 
ody, to  every  billow  of  harmony,  there  answers 
within,  out  of  the  Sea  of  Death  and  Birth,  some 
eddying  immeasurable  of  ancient  pleasure  and 
pain.  Pleasure  and  pain:  they  commingle  always 
in  great  music;   and  therefore  it  is  that  music  can 

23 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

move  us  more  profoundly  than  any  other  voice 
can  do.  ...  It  is  only  the  sum  of  the  pains  and 
joys  of  past  lives  innumerable  that  makes  for  us, 
through  memory  organic,  the  ecstasy  of  music. 
All  the  gladness  and  the  grief  of  dead  generations 
come  back  to  haunt  us  in  countless  forms  of  har- 
mony and  melody." 

Such  experiences,  which  are  transmuted  into  po- 
etry by  men  like  Thoreau,  Browning,  and  Hearn, 
are  not  to  be  lightly  spoken  of.  They  stir  the 
emotions  to  depths  which  no  other  excitation  can 
reach.  They  are  akin  to  religious  ecstasies,  and  it 
is  in  recognition  of  certain  correspondences  in  our 
nature  that  the  church  has  always  welcomed  the 
aid  of  music  in  its  efforts  to  draw  the  devotee  into 
a  charmed  circle  from  which  earthly  associations 
shrink  away.  The  practical  musician,  however, 
has  accustomed  himself  to  take  the  matter  more 
coolly.  While  not  denying  that  these  mystical 
transports  are  legitimate  and  the  source  of  a  joy 
that  is  at  the  same  time  elevating  and  purifying, 
still  he  distrusts  them  and  would  never  admit 
that  the  aim  of  musical  study  is  to  make  one  more 
susceptible  to  them.  It  is  evident  that  if  musical 
enjoyment  began  and  ended  with  emotional  stimu- 
lation of  this  kind  the  critical  study  of  music 
would  be  merely  the  study  of  psychologic  reac- 
tions, and  not  at  all  a  study  of  laws  and  methods 
by  virtue  of  which  music  becomes  a  fine  art  based 
on  scientific  principles  and  appealing  to  the  intel- 
lect as  well  as  to  the  sense.     There  would  be  no 

24 


THE  NEED   OF  EDUCATION 

guarantee  of  any  objective  standard  of  merit  or  de- 
merit; the  strumming  of  a  guitar  which  stirred 
such  high  contemplations  in  Thoreau,  if  measured 
by  its  effects  alone,  might  outbalance  in  his  mind 
an  orchestra  playing  the  Andante  from  Schubert's 
"Unfinished"  symphony.  In  the  case  of  weaker 
minds,  those  endowed  with  an  excess  of  sensibihty 
over  judgment,  music  is  often  the  parent  of  effem- 
inate sentimentalities  which,  if  habitually  in- 
dulged, produce  those  relaxing  results  of  which 
moralists  complain.  Where  the  purely  subjective 
interpretation  has  free  sway,  minds  less  robust 
than  those  of  Thoreau  and  Browning  may  receive 
less  noble  suggestions.  It  is  in  vain  to  search  in 
sudden  excitements,  which  may  move  in  exactly 
contrary  directions  at  different  times  of  the  day  or 
with  changing  conditions  in  the  nervous  system, 
for  any  guidance  that  may  enable  the  hearer  to 
distinguish  good  music  from  bad.  Neither  do  they 
involve  a  definite  conception  of  a  musical  com- 
position as  a  concrete  work  of  art.  The  delight  of 
the  moment  at  the  train  of  associated  ideas  may 
be  recalled  in  faded  colors,  but  no  memory  of  a 
thing  in  itself  beautiful  in  design  and  execution. 

Just  here  a  qualification  must  be  made,  lest 
I  be  misunderstood  and  be  classed  among  the 
pedants.  The  raptures  such  as  Milton  felt,  when 
the  floods  of  glorious  tone  dissolved  him  into  ecsta- 
sies and  brought  all  heaven  before  his  eyes,  not  only 
afford  us  some  of  the  happiest  moments  of  our 
existence,  but  when  rightly  adjusted  to  our  other 

25 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

experiences  may  become  a  source  of  moral  refresh- 
ment and  strength.  There  is  in  music  preemi- 
nently a  beauty  of  spiritual  intimation,  of  mysterious 
goings  to  and  fro  in  the  dim  passages  of  memories 
and  hopes,  of  mirth  and  tears,  of  associations  in- 
definable but  allied  to  what  we  feel  to  be  the  best 
there  is  in  us.  A  poet  like  Lafcadio  Hearn,  who 
catches  in  music  a  reverberation  of  the  joys  and 
sorrows  of  all  mankind,  receives  a  truer  communi- 
cation than  the  bookish  technician  who  perceives 
nothing  but  skilful  devices  in  theme  development, 
counterpoint,  or  orchestration.  I  would  not  dis- 
parage those  delights  that  come  with  unformed 
sound  (unformed,  I  mean,  so  far  as  the  listener  is 
aware)  any  more  than  I  would  disown  the  joy  in  the 
murmur  of  winds  and  waves  and  the  songs  of  happy 
birds.  We  accept  them  as  tokens  of  health  in  the 
universe,  and  it  is  a  sign  of  health  in  ourselves  that 
we  exult  in  them.  Doubtless  all  pure  sounds 
have  a  significance  in  our  soul  life  which  philosophy 
has  not  yet  explained.  So  in  music  the  passionate 
response  of  the  heart  to  beauty  is  the  ultimate  thing, 
and  in  these  moments  of  abandonment  learned 
science  and  theory  may  well  be  left  behind.  But 
neither  of  the  two  opposed  methods  of  reception  — 
the  half-hypnotized  absorption  and  the  cold  critical 
analysis — is  sufficient  alone.  Only  one  who  is  ca- 
pable of  both  is  competent  to  receive  all  that  music 
has  to  give.  Knowledge  and  feeling  must  unite. 
At  the  moment  of  hearing,  feeling  seems  to  have  it 
all  her  own  way,  but  it  is  the  antecedent  knowledge 

26 


THE  NEED  OF  EDUCATION 

that  directs  feeling  so  that  she  may  not  go  astray 
and  waste  herself  on  what  is  unworthy.  Reason 
must  hold  the  helm.  Music,  like  all  fine  art, 
demands  an  active  exercise  of  the  will,  as  well  as 
a  sensitiveness  to  physical  elements  and  a  vague 
response  to  suggestion. 

The  first  business  of  a  lover  of  art  is  to  sharpen 
his  faculties  of  perception.  The  eye  and  the  ear 
must  be  trained  to  quick  discriminations,  and  these 
discriminations  must  be  controlled  by  preliminary 
knowledge  of  the  function  and  method  of  the  art 
in  question,  in  view  of  the  character  and  limitation 
of  its  material  and  the  range  of  effect  permitted 
by  its  subject  matter.  The  beauties  to  which  the 
untrained  mind  is  most  alive  are  those  of  physical 
sensation  and  associative  suggestion;  those  which 
it  fails  to  observe  lie  in  form,  proportion,  design, 
mutual  adaptation  of  details  to  the  central  purpose 
—  that  is,  beauties  of  workmanship.  The  disci- 
pline that  one  must  undergo  in  order  to  appre- 
ciate fine  art  is  largely  an  exercise  of  eye  and  ear, 
reenforced  by  the  power  of  coordination,  in  order 
that  simple  sensations  may  group  themselves  into 
images  which  are  the  media  or  the  garments  of 
thought. 

Never  in  art  can  "thought"  and  "form"  be 
severed;  least  of  all  in  music.  The  artist's  vision 
becomes  clear  to  himself  only  as  he  laboriously  puts 
it  into  form,  and  his  intention  becomes  clear  to  us 
also  in  the  extent  to  which  we  are  able  to  follow  his 
processes.     A  work  of  art  possesses  an  objective 

27 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

as  well  as  a  subjective  value.  It  stirs  the  imagi- 
nation and  opens  depths  of  human  emotion  not 
sounded  before;  but  it  also  offers  delight  to  the 
physical  eye  or  the  physical  ear,  and  likewise 
gratifies  the  intellect  when  there  is  seen  a  masterly 
adaptation  of  means  to  ends.  The  artist  is  a  crafts- 
man as  well  as  a  seer.  The  original  conception 
comes  to  his  mind  as  a  germ,  not  as  a  complete 
organism.  He  devotes  all  his  ability  to  the  de- 
liberate shaping  of  his  materials,  and  invents 
patterns  that  are  in  themselves  beautiful  apart 
from  any  associated  meaning  that  may  be  stated 
in  words.  There  is  a  decorative  beauty  in  every 
art-work  as  well  as  a  beauty  of  sentiment.  From 
a  purely  ornamental  design,  such  as  a  Rookwood 
vase  or  an  architectural  moulding,  to  a  sonnet  of 
Wordsworth  or  Rembrandt's  etching  of  the  Prodi- 
gal Son,  where  the  technical  element  seems  lost 
in  the  nobility  of  the  thought,  there  is  every  degree 
of  emphasis  upon  the  decorative  factor.  The 
artist  never  forgets  this,  and  without  an  appre- 
ciation on  our  part  of  the  balance  of  rhythmic 
phrase  and  juxtaposition  of  euphonious  words,  or 
the  artful  arrangement  of  lines  and  groups  and 
masses,  the  artist's  purpose,  so  far  as  we  are  con- 
cerned, is  not  achieved. 

This  decorative  feature  —  using  the  term  in  its 
largest  sense  —  marks  out  one  of  the  paths  along 
which  the  learner's  study  must  be  persistently 
directed.  If  his  senses  are  not  trained  to  discern 
the  manifold  beauties  that  are  contained  in  design 

28 


THE  NEED   OF  EDUCATION 

and  technical  manipulation,  his  judgments  will 
have  no  secure  basis  and  the  very  essential  of 
aesthetic  appreciation  will  elude  his  grasp.  His 
perception  of  moral  values  may  be  exquisitely  re- 
fined, his  heart  may  beat  sympathetically  to  many 
notes  of  rapture  or  pain,  and  still  a  whole  world  of 
loveliness  be  closed  to  him.  With  attention  fixed 
only  upon  subject  and  sentiment,  he  would  perhaps 
be  content  with  ignorant  and  awkward  execution 
if  the  theme  appealed  to  his  religious,  patriotic,  or 
domestic  affections.  There  are,  of  course,  possi- 
ble deficiencies  on  the  other  side,  for  which  no 
delicacy  of  perception,  no  learning  in  technique, 
can  compensate.  The  connoisseur  who  sees  noth- 
ing in  Millet's  "Sower"  but  a  superb  representa- 
tion of  bodily  action  is  to  be  pitied  for  his  narrow- 
ness of  mental  vision.  When  Whistler  labelled  his 
portrait  of  his  mother  an  "arrangement  in  black 
and  gray,"  on  the  ground  that  no  one  would  be 
interested  in  the  sitter  as  an  individual,  but  that  a 
skilful  contrast  of  tones  was  all  that  an  instructed 
lover  of  art  ought  to  care  for  in  such  a  composition, 
he  carried  his  pet  theory  to  an  extreme  where  those 
who  feel  art  most  deeply  are  reluctant  to  follow. 
All  this  may  be  admitted,  and  still  the  fact  remains 
that  the  decorative  value  in  art  is  the  feature  in 
which  the  great  majority  even  of  intelligent  people 
most  need  to  be  instructed.  The  force  and  sub- 
tlety of  Whistler's  portrait  are  unquestionably 
affected  by  the  simplicity  of  the  scheme  of  lines 
and  the  arrangement  of  the  sombre  shades.     The 

29 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

drawing  and  composition  of  Raphael,  tlie  chiaros- 
curo of  Rembrandt,  the  atmosphere  of  Corot  are 
the  very  life  of  the  works  of  these  men;  they  are 
ends  as  well  as  means;  without  them  there  would 
be  no  individuality,  no  personal  communication. 
They  are  elements  which,  if  they  could  be  com- 
pletely severed  from  subject,  would  still  be  worthy 
artistic  aims.  The  mutilated  fragment  known  as 
the  "Torso  Belvedere,"  from  which  all  definite 
expression  of  character  has  departed  with  the  loss 
of  head  and  limbs,  was  nevertheless  the  object  of 
the  loving  study  of  Michelangelo. 

Say  what  we  may  in  regard  to  ideas,  emotion, 
the  infusion  of  personality  as  the  aim  and  justifi- 
cation of  art,  still  we  must  not  lose  sight  of  the 
fact  that  the  supreme  artists  of  the  world  —  the 
Shakespeares,  the  Michelangelos,  the  Beethovens  — 
were  consummate  masters  of  technique,  and  only 
through  sovereign  technique  could  they  impart 
their  thought  and  realize  their  visions.  There  is 
no  more  common  error  than  to  suppose  that  these 
men  and  others  of  the  same  rank  were  superior 
as  artists  because  they  felt  more  and  deeper  than 
other  men.  The  difference  is  not  in  feeling  but  in 
the  ability  to  incorporate  feeling  in  artistic  form. 
It  is  absurd  to  suppose  that  Winslow  Homer  felt 
the  appalling  strength  and  infinite  beauty  of  the 
sea  more  than  other  painters  who  failed  in  the 
attempt  to  render  them.  The  "mute  inglorious 
Milton"  of  Gray  never  existed.  If  one  is  a  Mil- 
ton he  will  not  be  mute.     Says  Ruskin:  "Weak 

30 


THE  NEED   OF  EDUCATION 

painters,  who  have  never  learned  their  business, 
continually  come  to  me  crying  out,  'Look  at  this 
picture  of  mine;  it  must  be  good,  I  had  such  a 
lovely  motive.  I  have  put  my  whole  heart  into 
it,  and  taken  years  to  think  over  its  treatment.' 
Well,  the  only  answer  for  these  people  is,  '  Sir, 
you  cannot  think  over  anything  in  any  number  of 
years — you  haven't  the  head  to  do  it;  and  though 
you  had  fine  motives,  strong  enough  to  make  you 
burn  yourself  in  a  slow  fire,  if  only  first  you  could 
paint  a  picture,  you  can't  paint  one,  nor  half  an 
inch  of  one;  you  haven't  the  hand  to  do  it.'  " 

It  is  indeed  the  hand,  as  well  as  the  head  and 
the  heart,  that  makes  the  artist,  and  the  knowledge 
of  the  part  played  by  the  hand  is  indispensable  to 
one  who  aspires  to  become  a  connoisseur.  The 
mysteries  of  craftsmanship  are  not  intuitively  dis- 
cerned, and  the  uninitiated  never  perceive  them. 
Appreciation  is  not  passive,  like  a  simple  sensation; 
and  it  is  the  result  of  effort  and  judicious  training. 
If  a  casual  lover  of  pictures  were  to  walk  through 
an  art  gallery  with  Mr.  Edwin  Blashfield  or  Mr. 
Lorado  Taft  he  would  soon  discover  that  his  own 
world  of  aesthetic  experience  was  a  very  limited 
affair  compared  with  that  of  his  companion.  The 
difference  is  well  illustrated  by  a  passage  in  Mr. 
Kenyon  Cox's  essay  on  Rodin  in  his  Painters  and 
Sculptors.  He  is  speaking  of  the  statue  called 
"The  Danaid,"  and  describes  it  as  "a  single 
female  figure  about  half  the  size  of  life,  fallen  for- 
ward in  an  odd,  half-crouching  attitude  expressive 

31 


THE  EDUCATION   OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

of  utter  despair  or  of  extreme  physical  lassitude." 
The  average  gallery  habitue,  interested  in  whatever 
belongs  to  life  but  ignorant  of  the  "points"  of  good 
sculpture,  would  be  attracted  by  the  title,  would 
inquire  concerning  the  story  of  the  Danaids,  and  if 
a  person  of  sensibility  would  be  touched  by  the 
suggestion  of  pathos,  and  would  perhaps  notice 
certain  graces  of  proportion  which  the  figure 
offered  to  his  sight.  But  now,  as  Mr.  Cox  pro- 
ceeds, notice  what  a  trained  critic  sees  in  this 
statue:  "Everything  is  largely  done,  with  pro- 
found knowledge,  the  result  of  thousands  of  pre- 
vious observations,  and  the  significance  of  every 
quarter-inch  of  surface  is  amazing.  Such  discrimi- 
nation of  hard  and  soft,  of  bone  and  muscle  and 
flesh  and  skin,  such  sense  of  stress  and  tension 
where  the  tissues  are  tightly  drawn  over  the  frame- 
work beneath,  such  sense  of  weight  where  they 
drag  away  from  it — all  this  is  beyond  description 
as  it  is  beyond  praise.  And  it  is  all  done  with  ad- 
mirable reticence,  without  the  slightest  insistence 
or  exaggeration,  and  with  such  a  feehng  for  the 
nature  of  the  material  employed  that  the  marble 
seems  caressed  into  breathing  beauty,  its  delicate 
bosses  and  hollows  so  faintly  accented  that  the  eye 
alone  is  hardly  adequate  to  their  perception  and  the 
finger-tips  fairly  tingle  with  the  desire  of  touch." 
Here  is  the  report  of  a  connoisseur  who  has  ac- 
quired the  ability  to  distinguish  beauties  that  lie 
in  the  material  and  the  methods  of  sculpture, 
beauties  that  would  never  be  seen  by  an  observer 

32 


THE  NEED   OF  EDUCATION 

whose  culture  was  general  and  not  special.  Sim- 
ilar lessons  may  be  drawn  from  the  testimony  of 
those  who  have  made  music  a  life  study.  Their  ad- 
vantage lies  primarily  in  the  fact  that,  by  reason  of 
their  knowledge  of  the  nature  of  musical  structure 
and  the  laws  of  performance,  their  minds  are  set  at 
such  a  focus  that  the  qualities  of  the  composition 
make  a  clear  and  logical  impression.  The  critic 
applies  the  standards  that  are  pertinent  to  the  case; 
he  grasps  the  details  in  proper  order  and  sees  how 
they  contribute  to  fulfil  the  composer's  structural 
design  and  emotional  conception.  His  hearing  has 
become  discriminative  through  his  experience  with 
works  and  principles;  he  knows  what  to  look  for, 
and  can  grasp  relationships  as  well  as  perceive 
details.  His  memory  has  acquired  possession  of 
many  masterpieces  which  he  is  able  to  compare 
with  one  another,  and  also  to  use  as  touchstones 
in  the  appraisal  of  other  claimants  upon  his  favor. 
Out  of  this  discipline  comes  judgment,  and  finally 
taste  with  its  exhaustless  resources  of  pleasure. 

A  frequent  objection  to  technical  study  rests  upon 
the  fact  that  increase  of  knowledge  in  matters  of  art 
brings  with  it  certain  penalties.  In  ascending  from 
the  plane  of  lower  to  that  of  higher  pleasures  one 
seems  doomed  to  leave  behind  certain  naive  en- 
joyments that  arise  from  a  frank  and  childlike  ac- 
ceptance of  everything  that  gives  agreeable  stimu- 
lation to  the  organs  of  sight  and  hearing.  As  one 
leaves  the  condition  of  paradisaical  innocence  and 
approaches    critical    enlightenment    one    becomes 

33 


THE  EDUCATION   OF  A   MUSIC  LOVER 

aware  of  evil  as  well  as  of  good;  there  are  shocks 
of  disappointed  expectation,  followed  by  sourness 
and  asperity  instead  of  that  joy  and  peace  which 
seem  the  just  recompense  of  one  who  goes  in  quest 
of  beauty.  The  professional  critic  is  not  envied 
by  the  art  loving  public.  His  calling  is  supposed 
to  promote  an  excessive  irritability  of  nerve,  an 
unhealthy  tendency  to  ignore  the  good  and  mag- 
nify the  evil,  a  habit  of  fault  finding  until  fault 
finding  becomes  a  pleasure.  No  honest  critic  will 
admit  the  justice  of  such  an  imputation,  yet  even 
he  sometimes  questions  if  the  pains  do  not  over- 
balance the  rewards.  Even  so  magnanimous  a 
spirit  as  Mr.  E.  A.  Baughan  has  sometimes  at  the 
end  of  a  season  entertained  the  disquieting  suspi- 
cion that,  after  all,  ignorance  is  really  bliss  and 
that  wisdom  may  sometimes  run  to  the  excess  that 
verges  upon  folly.  But  the  critic  so  minded  does 
not  know  his  own  blessedness.  He  has  sources  of 
satisfaction  of  which  the  Philistine  who  "knows 
nothing  about  art  but  knows  what  he  likes"  has 
very  little  conception.  The  critic  enjoys  more  than 
the  other  because  he  sees  and  hears  more,  and 
is  better  prepared  to  grasp  the  real  significance  of 
what  he  sees  and  hears.  His  occasional  distress  is 
only  the  reverse  side  of  his  enjoyment.  The  cheap 
popular  march  or  sentimental  ballad  irritates  him 
just  because  an  etude  by  Chopin  or  a  song  by  Grieg 
makes  him  so  happy.  There  is  even  a  not  ignoble 
pleasure  in  his  very  distaste,  because  there  cannot 
be  a  revolt  against  stupidity  and  vulgarity  without 

34 


THE  NEED   OF  EDUCATION 

comparison,  and  comparison  involves  even  at  the 
moment  an  under-consciousness  of  merit  elsewhere. 
There  are  critics  and  critics.  The  true  critic  is 
one  who  sees  below  the  surface  of  things,  distin- 
guishes the  essentials  from  the  accidents,  the  spirit 
within  the  form,  and  whose  nature  is  so  sympa- 
thetically attuned  to  that  of  the  artist  that  he  un- 
derstands him  and  finds  delight  in  assisting  the 
understanding  of  others.  Swinburne  had  the  truth 
of  the  matter  in  him  when  he  said:  "I  have  never 
been  able  to  see  what  should  attract  men  to  the 
profession  of  criticism  but  the  noble  pleasure  of 
praising."  As  seer,  hierophant,  and  interpreter  the 
critic  performs  an  almost  priestlike  task.  When 
criticism  is  inspired  by  the  highest  purpose,  in 
which  duty  blends  with  privilege,  one  may  even 
say  of  it,  as  has  been  said  of  love— "all  other 
pleasures  are  not  worth  its  pains." 

The  serious  amateur  who  in  the  hearing  of 
music  feels  a  vague  stirring  as  in  the  presence  of 
something  which  itself  is  vague,  desires  more  of 
the  critic's  discriminating  power.  He  has  heard 
that  music  is  not  only  an  art  of  expression  but  is 
also  an  art  of  form.  It  enters  the  soul  through 
many  channels.  Hearing — as  we  use  the  term  in 
respect  to  a  piece  of  music — is  a  complex  process. 
In  the  first  place  there  is  the  physical  consciousness 
of  sounds  of  a  particular  pitch,  timbre,  and  in- 
tensity. We  may  hear  them  as  we  hear  the  warble 
of  a  bird,  the  mutter  of  distant  thunder,  the  sigh 
of   the   wind;    no   intellectual   reaction    need    be 

35 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  A   MUSIC   LOVER 

involved,  for  these  sounds  may  be  unrelated  and 
unorganized.  Aside  from  possible  chance  associa- 
tions, which  one  person  may  have  and  another 
may  not,  they  are  mere  sense  impressions  which 
act  in  the  same  way  upon  people  of  higher  and 
lower  grades  of  culture.  In  the  next  stage,  how- 
ever, there  are  more  refined  and  intricate  processes 
involved.  The  tones  are  no  longer  detached  and 
isolated,  but  are  combined  with  one  another  by 
an  act  of  will  on  the  part  of  the  composer.  This 
coalescence  into  logical  design,  being  an  intellectual 
operation,  demands  an  intellectual  operation  for 
its  apprehension.  The  hearer  perceives  plan,  sys- 
tem, order,  unified  variety.  A  third  stage  also 
appears:  each  tone  or  phrase  is  an  emotional  cen- 
tre. The  successions  and  combinations  of  tones 
are  charged  with  a  potency  which  their  qualities 
as  agreeable  sensation  and  ingenious  artifice  can- 
not explain.  There  is  a  stirring  of  the  spirit  to 
unknown  depths,  the  final  cause  of  which  eludes 
analysis,  but  is  felt  to  have  its  roots  where  every 
active  impulse  toward  beauty  has  its  birth.  This 
exaltation  and  purging  of  the  soul  by  harmony  is 
doubtless  music's  highest  sanction.  There  is  an 
experience  here  for  which  no  other  art  furnishes 
an  equivalent.  Music's  very  mystery  and  in- 
tangibility is  the  essential  condition  of  much  of  its 
peculiar  power.  Nevertheless  an  earnest  mind 
cannot  be  satisfied  with  a  pleasure,  however  pure 
and  elevating,  that  quickly  dissolves,  leaving  no 
residue  to  be  worked  over  by  the  memory.     If 

36 


THE   NEED    OF   EDUCATION 

uninitiated  he  yet  believes  that  there  must  be  a 
host  of  beauties  in  the  works  of  the  masters  which  he 
does  not  perceive.  With  all  his  delight  in  music 
he  confesses  that  he  has  no  firm  standard  of  judg- 
ment, that  he  makes  litde  or  no  progress  in  the 
appreciation  of  great  music  because  he  is  at  the 
mercy  of  his  temperament,  his  habitudes,  his  preju- 
dices, and  his  mental  and  physical  condition  at  the 
moment.  He  would  make  his  musical  experiences 
a  means  of  genuine  intellectual  gain,  developing  a 
power  of  enjoyment  that  is  active  not  passive,  one 
that  strengthens  his  faculties  of  perception  and 
discrimination  by  means  of  an  exercise  that  he  can 
supervise  and  direct  to  satisfying  ends. 

The  amateur,  too  long  neglected,  is  beginning  to 
understand  his  needs  and  make  them  known,  and 
I  have  already  shown  that  his  Macedonian  cry  is 
reaching  attentive  ears.  He  has  no  wish  to  become 
a  brilliant  player  or  vocalist,  or  if  he  has,  there  is 
no  place  in  his  life  for  the  long  preparatory  drudg- 
ery. Neither  would  he  be  reconciled  to  courses  in 
harmony  and  counterpoint.  But  he  does  wish  to 
cultivate  his  ear  and  his  powers  of  judgment,  to 
know  what  to  listen  for,  to  hear  what  musicians 
hear  in  a  musical  performance,  to  learn  in  what 
consist  the  factors  that  make  good  music,  to  know 
what  his  musical  friends  are  talking  about  when 
they  discuss  the  new  men  and  the  new  movements, 
to  bring  Beethoven  and  Wagner  and  Chopin  into 
the  circle  of  his  familiars  along  with  Raphael  and 
Rembrandt,  Shakespeare  and  Milton,  Thackeray 

37 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

and  Tennyson, — in  a  word  he  wishes  to  make  music 
also,  along  with  books  and  pictures  and  all  beau- 
tiful things,  a  means  of  enriching  his  inward  life. 
In  the  succeeding  chapters  I  have  undertaken  to 
show  what  music  as  a  fine  art  has  to  offer  to  the 
amateur  who  begins  with  nothing  but  the  most  ru- 
dimentary knowledge  of  the  formal  principles  and 
psychologic  conditions  of  art  in  general.  An  ordi- 
nary sensitiveness  to  musical  impressions  is  all  that 
is  required  for  admission  to  the  imaginary  class  that 
I  proceed  to  form.  Let  no  one  misunderstand  my 
purpose,  and  suppose  that  I  attach  supreme  value 
to  technicalities  because  I  give  so  large  a  space  to 
them.  I  do  so  simply  because  a  casual  acquaint- 
ance with  technical  principles  and  methods  is  nec- 
essary as  a  means  to  the  higher  end,  and  because 
that  is  the  knowledge  in  which  the  amateur  is  most 
deficient.  His  little  learning  will  not  be  to  him  a 
dangerous  thing;  he  is  not  to  be  refused  a  taste  be- 
cause he  cannot  drink  deep  at  the  Pierian  springs. 
He  need  not  fear  that  he  will  lose  any  of  the  fine 
intoxication  that  was  his  before.  He  will  no  longer 
say  that  he  cannot  see  the  forest  for  the  trees  —  he 
will  see  trees  and  forest  both.  He  will  learn  to 
adjust  his  mind  so  that  the  beauties  of  detail  will 
reach  him  as  well  as  the  glory  of  the  whole.  "The 
laboratories,"  says  a  French  writer,  "are  crowded 
with  retorts,  flowers  and  leaves  are  dissected  under 
the  microscope.  But  nothing  of  all  this  has  spoiled 
the  graces  of  the  springtime  or  the  splendors  of 
setting  suns." 

38 


CHAPTER   III 

DEFINITE   HEARING:   THE  PROBLEM 
OF   FORM 

In  the  discussions  that  are  to  follow  I  shall  have 
in  mind  that  class  of  music  lovers  known  as  ama- 
teurs or  dilettanti,  meaning  thereby  those  who  do 
not  practice  music  as  a  profession,  and  have  little  or 
no  expert  knowledge.  I  am  thinking  of  genuine 
music  lovers,  the  people  who  compose  the  serious 
part  of  opera  and  concert  audiences,  who  encour- 
age music  in  the  home  and  in  society,  who  like  to 
discuss  music  and  wish  to  make  it  more  familiar. 
This  enlarged  appreciation,  I  assume,  is  to  be 
gained  chiefly  by  the  ear,  for  the  music  lovers  for 
whom  this  book  is  written  are  not  required  to  be 
masters  of  the  art  of  reading  music.  Books  and 
musical  reviews  in  the  daily,  weekly,  and  monthly 
press  they  will  find  it  for  their  interest  to  consult 
frequently,  and  some  of  the  best  books  on  dif- 
ferent branches  of  the  subject  will  be  specified. 
Lectures  on  music  they  will  sometimes  attend.  In 
fact,  I  shall  have  pretty  constantly  in  my  mind  the 
worthy  band  of  lecturers  whose  work  in  colleges, 
schools,  clubs  and  other  private  circles  has  recently 
become  an  important  item  in  our  national  educa- 

39 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

tional  machinery.  In  this  department  of  musical 
instruction  traditions  are  still  to  be  established,  for 
there  are  as  many  methods  as  there  are  teachers, 
and  many  of  these  methods  are  crude  and  incom- 
plete. My  purpose  is  partly  to  indicate  my  owti 
conception  of  the  nature  and  scope  of  the  subject 
of  musical  criticism — the  topics  involved  and  their 
mutual  relations,  the  action  of  musical  works  upon 
the  ear  and  mind  of  the  listener,  the  aesthetic  prin- 
ciples concerned,  and  the  various  means  by  which 
musical  enjoyment  may  be  increased  and  rational 
judgment  ensured.  I  shall  consider  the  needs  of 
the  learner,  the  preparation  of  the  teacher  (so  far 
as  the  teacher  is  allowed  to  appear  within  the  hori- 
zon of  this  volume)  and  the  materials  available  for 
both.  No  exact  system  of  study  is  proposed,  cer- 
tainly not  a  complete  one.  Many  things  that  such 
a  book  might  properly  contain  will  probably  be 
omitted,  either  intentionally  or  inadvertently.  I 
wish  to  be  as  discursive  as  my  whim  dictates. 
My  temperament  is  that  of  an  explorer  rather 
than  that  of  a  surveyor,  and  an  explorer  is  one 
who  leaves  much  to  be  sought  out  by  the  next 
comer.  Suggestion  rather  than  an  organized  pro- 
gram is  the  waiter's  best  service  in  such  a  case  as 
this;  his  best  hope  that  he  may  be  able  to  per- 
suade others  to  enter  a  fresh  field  by  confirming 
out  of  his  own  discoveries  the  bright  promise  of  its 
invitations. 

In  its  simplest  terms  the  question  resolves  itself 
into  this:  What  and  how  must  one  hear  in  listening 

40 


THE   PROBLEM  OF  FORM 

to  music?  In  respect  to  the  what  a  listener  is  in 
quite  a  different  situation  from  that  involved  in  the 
presence  of  any  other  art.  A  musical  composition 
exists  only  as  it  is  performed;  it  does  not  really 
live  until  it  has  known  a  second  birth.  Moreover, 
music  is  movement;  it  is  contained  in  time  and 
not  in  space.  We  may  go  to  an  art  gallery  and 
study  a  picture  or  a  statue  at  leisure;  we  are  not 
compelled  to  form  a  judgment  until  we  have  de- 
liberately examined  all  the  details  and  put  them 
together  in  our  consciousness.  In  the  case  of  a 
literary  work  the  reader  may  be  as  deliberate  as 
the  picture  gazer.  The  obscurities  of  Browning  or 
Henry  James  simply  require  closer  attention  and 
slower  progress  than  the  lucid  phrases  of  Tennyson 
or  Hardy;  the  reader  need  not  go  on  until  he  has 
understood  them.  But  the  musical  piece  passes  as 
on  the  wings  of  the  wind;  we  cannot  arrest  it  for 
the  sake  of  a  reinspection.  Moreover  music  is  har- 
mony as  well  as  rhythmic  melody;  in  the  simplest 
song  with  piano  accompaniment  there  are  several 
parts  to  follow  at  the  same  time,  while  in  a  sym- 
phony, or  still  more  in  an  opera  or  oratorio,  the 
abundance  and  complexity  of  simultaneous  ele- 
ments not  only  presuppose  vast  powers  of  ana- 
lytic perception  on  the  part  of  the  human  ear,  but 
also  seem  determined  to  baffle  them.  The  weak- 
ness of  music  in  the  opinion  of  many  philosophers 
—  if  it  be  a  weakness  —  consists  not  so  much  in 
the  character  of  its  impressions  as  in  the  difficulty 
on  the  part  of  the  hearer  of  getting  any  clear 

41 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

impressions  at  all.  Even  the  trained  musician  feels 
this  whenever  he  goes  to  a  concert.  The  musical 
piece  is  volatile,  intangible,  evasive;  it  comes  out 
of  silence  and  vanishes  into  the  unknown  again. 
We  are  tantalized  by  this  flying  tumult  of  sweet 
sounds.  We  suspect  that  in  the  flood  of  harmony 
there  are  numberless  beauties  that  escape  us.  We 
long  to  put  forth  some  faculty  of  seizure  that  may 
arrest  this  phantom  and  hold  it  until  it  gives  up 
all  its  secrets.  If  the  educated  musician  is  often 
thus  perplexed  it  is  not  strange  that  the  untaught 
amateur,  catching  a  random  charm  here  and  an- 
other there,  despairs  of  getting  a  definite  image 
and  yields  to  the  vague  excitement  of  nerve  stimu- 
lation, or  perhaps  to  the  nobler,  but  no  less  tran- 
sient absorption  in  mystical  imaginings,  and  tries 
to  be  content  therewith. 

It  is  evident  that  these  impediments  can  be 
overcome  only  by  the  development  of  some  faculty 
which  will  enable  the  hearer  to  apprehend  the 
design  of  a  musical  work  and  perceive  some  logical 
necessity  in  its  progress.  If  the  different  factors 
combine  into  an  artistic  whole  which  gives  each 
of  them  its  raison  d'etre — if  the  composer's  pur- 
pose is  fully  revealed  only  when  the  work  is  grasped 
entire,  as  a  unity — then  it  is  plain  that  the  cas- 
ual, disconnected  impressions  of  the  average  non- 
musician  do  not  give  him  the  satisfaction  which 
the  work  is  intended  to  afford.  His  attention  must 
be  directed  toward  elements  and  qualities  which 
he   has   not   hitherto   perceived.     An   amount   of 

42 


THE  PROBLEM  OF  FORM 

technical  knowledge  must  be  acquired  that  is  at 
least  sufficient  to  enable  him  to  discover  what  the 
work  actually  contains  and  the  real  significance  of 
each  part  in  the  total  efifect.  These  factors,  not 
being  intuitively  discerned,  require  demonstra- 
tion, and  the  novice  in  matters  of  musical  science 
gladly  accepts  the  guidance  of  the  expert. 

One  who  undertakes  to  assist  musically  untrained 
people  to  a  comprehension  of  the  works  of  the  great 
composers,  finds  it  necessary  to  ask:  What  is  the 
actual  musical  experience  of  one  who  has  no  tech- 
nical knowledge  of  the  art?  What  does  one  who 
knows  nothing  of  musical  science  or  the  laws  of 
musical  expression  actually  get  out  of  a  concert, 
recital,  or  opera?  What  is  the  difference  in  re- 
spect to  perception  and  mental  reaction  between 
the  untaught  music  lover  and  the  expert  critic? 
It  is  not  easy  to  find  an  answer  to  these  questions. 
The  musician  may  call  upon  his  imagination  for  a 
reply,  but  there  is  not  much  satisfaction  in  this, 
for  it  is  extremely  difficult  for  him  to  project  him- 
self into  the  mental  state  of  one  who  has  formed 
none  of  the  habits  that  have  become  a  second 
nature  to  one  who  has  spent  years  in  familiar  asso- 
ciation with  the  practical  side  of  the  art.  These 
two  individuals  inhabit  different  worlds.  Features 
that  are  instantly  perceived  and  appraised  by  the 
one  are  overlooked  by  the  other.  The  adept  can- 
not recall  his  days  of  musical  innocence,  and  so  he 
asks  for  testimony  from  his  non-musical  brother, 
since  instruction  presupposes  some  knowledge  of 

43 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

the  mental  status  of  the  pupil.  Such  information, 
however,  the  latter  finds  it  very  difficult  to  give,  for 
how  can  one  furnish  a  clear  account  of  impres- 
sions which  are  in  their  very  nature  unclear  and 
elusive  ? 

Certain  aspects  of  the  non-musician's  musical  ex- 
perience will  always  be  a  mystery  to  an  investigator 
[  as  well  as  to  the  subject  himself.  One  very  radi- 
cal distinction,  however,  is  plain,  and  that  is  to  be 
I  found  in  the  fact  that  the  musician's  hearing  of 
i  music  is  definite,  while  that  of  the  casual  hearer 
yi  is  indefinite.  The  latter  is  aware  of  a  number  of 
simple  perceptions  which  may  be  very  delightful 
even  in  isolation,  but  they  do  not  coalesce  in  his 
consciousness  into  the  orderly  groups  and  divisions 
which,  in  their  relations  of  balance,  contrast,  and 
fulfilment,  make  up  a  complete  work  of  art.  Fur- 
thermore, not  being  conversant  with  the  principles 
of  musical  organization,  he  cannot  be  in  that  atti- 
tude of  intelligent  expectation  which  the  musician, 
by  reason  of  his  specialized  knowledge,  is  able  to 
assume.  Hence  he  fails  to  notice  a  great  many 
sounds  which  the  musician  perceives  because  he  is 
more  or  less  awake  to  their  necessity  in  the  tonal 
scheme.  The  musician's  perception  of  sounds  is 
reinforced  by  his  acquaintance  with  the  procedure 
of  the  art  of  composition,  and  he  is  thus  able  to  hear 
each  phrase  as  a  preparation  for  that  which  is  to 
come;  his  mind  is  alert,  as  if  about  to  spring  ahead 
of  the  actual  tones  and  anticipate  their  direction, 
or  at  least  he  can  connect  each  passage  with  what 

44 


THE  PROBLEM  OF   FORM 

he  has  already  heard  and  construct  in  his  mind 
more  or  less  extensive  divisions  of  the  work  as  he 
goes  along.  No  musician  can  do  this  to  such  a 
degree  as  to  seize  every  detail  of  a  large  and  intri- 
cate composition  at  the  first  hearing;  there  is  a 
certain  consolation  to  the  amateur  in  reading  the 
cautious,  non-committal  estimates  of  the  profes- 
sional critics  on  the  morning  after  a  first  perform- 
ance of  a  new  symphony.  But  the  critic's  train- 
ing enables  him  to  direct  his  mind  along  certain 
legalized  thoroughfares  and  gather  details  together 
into  related  groups,  while  to  one  who  listens  with- 
out method  the  sounds  come  in  heterogeneous 
confusion,  distinguished,  if  distinguished  at  all, 
only  in  gleams  and  flashes  playing  upon  a  current 
of  vague  sonority. 

The  primary  task  of  the  ambitious  music  lover, 
therefore,  will  be  to  learn  some  of  the  secrets  of 
musical  construction,  in  order  that  his  hearing 
may  take  on  that  quality  of  definiteness  which 
Hes  at  the  basis  of  a  true  musical  appreciation. 
"Music,"  says  Edmund  Gurney,  "may  be  de- 
scribed as  having  a  definite  or  indefinite  character 
according  as  the  individuality  of  what  is  pre- 
sented is  or  is  not  perceived;  according  as  the 
person  does  or  does  not  grasp  something  which 
can  be  recognized  as  itself  and  nothing  else  when 
the  presentation  is  repeated,  and  can  be  reproduced 
in  memory,  not  as  the  mere  knowledge  of  a  past 
fact,  but  with  some  vital  realization  of  the  actual 
experience.     It  is,  indeed,  obviously  natural  that 

45 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

any  matter  presented  to  the  higher  senses  should 
exhibit  definite  aesthetic  character  in  proportion 
to  the  degree  in  which  striking  form  is  perceived 
in  it.  The  mind  naturally  assimilates  and  makes 
completely  its  own  that  on  which  it  has  brought 
its  own  activity  to  bear,  and  activity  of  mind  de- 
mands an  order  of  some  kind  in  the  matter  on  which 
it  works." 

On  this  plain  psychologic  principle  the  learner 
must  take  his  stand.  His  first  business  is  to  de- 
velop that  faculty  which  seeks  for  a  systematic 
connection  among  audible  phenomena.  Without 
design  and  order  —  parts  possessing  a  value  not 
in  themselves  alone  but  in  their  contribution  to 
the  development  of  the  whole  —  there  is  no  work 
of  art.  "A  book,"  says  Alphonse  Daudet  (and  he 
would  have  used  the  same  expression  for  any  art- 
work) " —  a  book  is  an  organism;  if  it  has  not  its 
organs  in  place  it  dies,  and  its  corpse  is  a  scandal." 
As  the  sounds  enter  the  listener's  brain  he  must 
strive  to  organize  them  there  as  the  composer 
organized  their  symbols,  to  build  up  a  tonal  struct- 
ure in  his  consciousness,  a  structure  distinct,  sym- 
metrical, self-supporting — not  only  that  the  whole 
beauty  of  the  work  may  be  manifest,  but  also  that 
its  presence  may  remain  established  in  the  memory 
as  a  secure  possession.  Every  musician  is  aware 
that  music  is  not  a  random  string  of  vivid  sensa- 
tions passing  over  like  the  clouds  which  leave  no 
wake.  To  his  mind  each  phrase  is  a  consequence 
of   that   which    went   before   and   the   necessary 

46 


THE  PROBLEM  OF  FORM 

antecedent  of  that  which  follows.  Just  as  each 
word  in  a  line  of  poetry  is  by  itself  alone  meaning- 
less, so  it  is  only  in  their  connections  and  relations 
that  sounds  acquire  aesthetic  value.  A  single  tone 
may  be  delightful  in  its  physical  effect,  but  apart 
from  its  fellows  it  has  no  expression,  no  character.* 
The  musician's  pleasure  comes  from  an  active 
exercise  of  the  attention  directed  by  anticipation 
and  sustained  by  memory.  He  enjoys  the  evi- 
dences of  skill,  of  difficulties  overcome,  of  the 
triumph  of  the  composer  or  performer  over  his 
defiant  material,  the  beauty  that  lies  in  reasoned 
design,  development,  and  proportion.  The  igno- 
rant hearer,  on  the  other  hand,  is  the  sport  of  un- 
known forces.  The  sounds  at  any  moment  drive 
out  of  his  mind  the  sounds  he  heard  the  moment 
before.  In  an  orchestral  composition  he  catches 
the  most  decided  tone  colors,  he  is  exhilarated 
with  the  grandeur  of  accumulated  crescendos,  the 
fierce  rush  of  the  prestos,  the  electric  pulse  of  the 
rhythms,  and  is  soothed  by  the  contrasting  mur- 
mur of  soft  melodies.  He  enjoys  the  brilliant  ex- 
ecution of  the  pianist,  the  sympathetic  voice  of  the 
famous  singer.  He  is  very  conscious  of  melody — 
at  least  in  fragments;  he  is  less  conscious  of  har- 
mony; counterpoint  is  an  unknown  tongue.  He 
is  often  like  one  who  walks  through  a  gallery  of 
paintings,    glancing   from    side   to    side,    catching 

'  Exceptions  to  this  principle,  of  course,  occur  in  dramatic  music, 
where,  for  example,  a  piercing  high  note,  a  fortissimo  or  harshly 
dissonant  chord,  or  a  distant  trumpet  tone  will  convey  vivid  sug- 
gestion by  means  of  imitation  or  direct  association. 

47 


THE  EDUCATION   OF  A   MUSIC  LOVER 

glimpses  of  forms  and  colors,  but  when  his  ex- 
cursion is  over  remembers  little  of  what  he  has 
seen,  and  doubts  if  he  is  much  the  wiser  for  his 
experience.  The  musical  world  of  the  dilettante 
is  often  a  sort  of  twilight  region,  in  which  every- 
thing is  indistinct  and  many  things  beautiful  are 
quite  unseen. 

Out  of  this  misty  realm  of  sensation  the  ama- 
teur, as  soon  as  he  is  enlightened  upon  the  real 
nature  of  art,  wishes  to  emerge;  he  desires  to  ar- 
range and  solidify  his  impressions  into  something 
coherent,  and  fortify  them  with  elements  which  he 
has  not  before  perceived.  In  a  word,  he  wishes  to 
hear  definitely  instead  of  indefinitely. 

In  listening  to  a  piece  of  music  we  observe  the 
actual  growth  of  an  organic  structure;  we  are 
witnesses  of  a  process,  each  detail  of  which  has  a 
certain  necessity  in  the  realization  of  a  design. 
A  complete  understanding  of  the  work  would 
imply  an  ability  to  comprehend  not  only  the 
composer's  ruling  motive  but  also  the  function  of 
every  melodic  and  harmonic  factor  in  the  scheme. 
The  question  how  a  composer  works  becomes  of 
interest.  Many  people  seem  to  have  the  notion  that 
a  musical  composition  is  of  the  nature  of  an  im- 
provisation, a  succession  of  tones  streaming  out  of 
a  highly  excited  emotional  condition.  As  regards 
a  song — which  in  the  case  of  a  genius  like  Schu- 
bert may  be  struck  out  at  a  white  heat  and  jotted 
down  in  a  few  feverish  moments — this  is  in  part 
true,  but  not  so  in  respect  to  a  work  containing 

48 


THE  PROBLEM  OF  FORM 

an  abundance  of  varied  ideas  and  elaborate  in  or- 
ganization. Beethoven  spent  many  days  in  writ- 
ing the  funeral  march  of  the  "Heroic"  symphony, 
but  we  are  not  to  suppose  that  his  thoughts  during 
that  time  were  constantly  fixed  on  mortality  and 
the  grave.  We  think  of  Tchaikovsky  as  a  man 
in  whom  there  was  an  especially  direct  connection 
between  his  moods  and  his  music,  but  listen  to 
what  he  says  in  one  of  his  letters:  "Those  who 
imagine  that  a  creative  artist  can,  through  the 
medium  of  his  art,  express  his  feelings  at  the  mo- 
ment when  he  is  moved  make  the  greatest  mistake. 
Emotions,  sad  or  joyful,  can  only  be  expressed 
retrospectively,  so  to  speak.  Without  any  special 
reason  for  rejoicing  I  may  be  moved  by  the  most 
cheerful  creative  mood,  and,  vice  versa,  a  work 
composed  amid  the  happiest  surroundings  may 
be  touched  with  dark  and  gloomy  colors."  We 
know  that  Beethoven  and  Chopin — composers 
whose  music  is  charged  to  a  high  degree  of  emo- 
tional tension — were  slow  and  laborious  workers, 
Beethoven,  particularly,  being  forced  to  struggle 
not  only  with  the  working  out  of  his  themes,  but 
in  many  cases  with  the  themes  themselves,  fairly 
twisting  and  hammering  them  into  shape  before  he 
could  begin  to  make  use  of  them  as  constructive 
material.  So  true  is  it  that  a  musical  composition 
is  a  work  of  conscious  reflective  design  that  an 
actual  personal  emotion  may  even  stand  in  the 
way  of  the  best  success  in  execution.  Grieg's 
funeral   march   written   in   honor  of   his  beloved 

49 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

friend,  Rikard  Nordraak,  is  on  the  whole  rather 
commonplace,  while  thousands  have  been  deeply 
moved  by  the  pathos  of  "Ase's  Death,"  written  to 
suit  a  purely  imaginary  situation.  The  sublime 
"Dead  March"  in  Handel's  "Saul"  and  the  awful 
dirge  for  Titurel  in  Wagner's  "Parsifal"  were  cer- 
tainly not  inspired  by  personal  experiences  on  the 
part  of  their  authors.  On  the  other  hand,  it  would 
be  impossible  to  fmd  any  connection  between 
Mozart's  distressing  circumstances  in  1788  and  the 
three  symphonies  of  that  year — symphonies  which 
seem  fairly  aglow  with  the  joie  de  vivre.  We  need 
not  regret  that  such  is  the  case.  It  is  the  glory  of 
art  that  its  masterpieces  are  written  in  uncon- 
scious sympathy  with  universal  human  feeling, 
and  are  not  the  less  sincere  when  they  call  forth 
tears  such  as  their  creators  never  shed. 

In  spite  of  this,  I  trust  that  I  do  not  need  to  say 
that  great  music  is  something  more  than  the  result 
of  a  merely  mechanical  process.  The  truth  seems 
to  be  that  the  first  idea  of  the  spirit  and  something 
of  the  form  of  a  work  often  come  in  a  sort  of 
instantaneous  vision,  and  the  excited  mood  may 
often  arise  from  an  actual  personal  experience. 
The  theme  itself,  which  may  suddenly  flash  upon 
the  composer's  mind,  will  often  contain  implicitly 
the  essential  character  of  the  movement,  as  in  the 
opening  measures  of  Beethoven's  Fifth  symphony 
or  the  Scherzo  of  Mendelssohn's  "Scotch"  sym- 
phony. But  the  decision  how  the  subject  shall 
be  treated  and  the  giving  of  body  and  form  to  the 

50 


THE  PROBLEM  OF  FORM 

idea  is  a  very  deliberate  process;  and  when  the 
composer  takes  pen  in  hand  he  must  keep  his 
head  cool  and  call  upon  the  result  of  his  years  of 
theoretical  training,  for  his  problem  now  is  largely 
technical.  This  is  even  more  the  case  with  the 
composer,  especially  the  instrumental  composer, 
than  it  is  with  the  sculptor  or  the  painter,  for  his 
art  is  not  at  all  imitative  of  nature,  and  so  being 
free  from  any  control  by  outward  phenomena  he 
is  bound  by  the  inner  necessity  of  shaping  his  airy 
material  by  the  laws  which  itself  decrees. 

It  is  these  laws  that  the  serious  music  lover  wishes 
to  understand,  so  far  as  a  knowledge  of  them  is 
necessary  to  enable  him  to  follow  a  work  in  all  its 
parts  and  take  into  his  mind  everything  that  con- 
tributes to  its  essential  character.  Order  is  heav- 
en's first  law  in  art  as  in  nature,  and  the  recogni- 
tion of  orderly  arrangement  in  sounds  is  the  first 
condition  of  definite  impressions  in  hearing  music. 
Even  if  the  human  mind  does  not  instinctively 
seek  for  orderly  relations  among  audible  phe- 
nomena, at  any  rate  a  sense  of  these  relationships 
and  a  desire  for  them  can  easily  be  awakened.  It 
is  a  faculty  to  be  cultivated  like  any  other;  it  is  a 
question  of  degrees.  The  craving  for  system  and 
proportion  is  betrayed  in  the  simplest  folk  song, 
even  in  the  barren  repetitions  that  abound  in  the 
music  of  savages.  From  such  naive  devices  up  to 
the  first  movement  of  the  ''Heroic"  symphony  we 
find  in  every  stage  of  musical  progress  the  same 
necessity  at  work.     A  musical  composition,  like  a 

51 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

drama  or  any  other  product  of  artistic  contrivance, 
is  a  community  in  which  each  member  ministers 
to  the  welfare  of  the  whole,  and  draws  from  the 
whole  organism  the  vital  force  which  maintains 
its  own  existence.  Says  Dr.  William  Pole:  "One 
may  fancy  a  musical  composition  which,  though 
it  may  be  divided  into  measures  and  groups  of 
measures,  consists  of  a  constant  succession  of 
heterogeneous  ideas,  none  of  which  have  any  re- 
lation to  any  others  going  before  or  after  them. 
This  may  be  called  amorphous  music,  that  is, 
music  without  form;  and  even  though  the  ideas 
presented  might  be  very  good,  it  would  be  tiresome 
and  wearying  to  listen  to.  All  great  composers 
have  perceived  this,  and  they  have,  therefore,  ta- 
ken care  to  lighten  the  effort  by  causing  a  com- 
position to  contain  but  few  novel  ideas,  and  giving 
the  chief  interest  by  their  skilful  and  musician- 
like treatment." 

The  only  fault  that  might  be  found  with  this 
statement  is  in  the  implied  reason  for  this  procedure 
on  the  part  of  composers;  it  is  not  to  make  things 
easy  for  the  listener,  but  in  obedience  to  an  artistic 
necessity,  that  regularity  of  structure  has  prevailed. 
Even  the  classic  forms  of  fugue  and  sonata,  which 
Dr.  Pole  evidently  has  in  mind,  although  their  su- 
premacy has  long  since  passed,  contain  a  principle 
that  has  never  yet  been  abrogated.  The  leader- 
ship of  certain  themes  and  tonalities  and  the  re- 
turn to  them  after  other  melodies  and  keys  have  in- 
tervened is  still  the  method  by  which  a  straggling 

52 


THE  PROBLEM  OF  FORM 

incoherence  is  avoided,  and  consistency,  coherence, 
and  unity  maintained.     "  All  things,"  says  Thoreau, 
"are  subjected  to  a  rotary  motion,  either  gradual 
and  partial,  or  rapid  and  complete,  from  the  planet 
and  system  to  the  simplest  shellfish  and  pebbles 
on  the  beach.     As  if  beauty  resulted  from  an  ob- 
ject's turning  on  its  axis,  or  from  the  turning  of 
others  about  it."     In  musical  organisms,  from  the 
lowest  to  the  highest,  we  find  application  of  the 
universal   law   of   rhythm  —  we   find   action   and  ( 
reaction,  control  and  subordination,  growth  fromi 
the  simple  to  the  complex,  adjustment  of  elements  •• 
for  the  attainment  of  order,  unity,  and  reasoned 
progress. 

The  sum  of  the  matter  is  that  a  musical  work, 
whatever  its  dimensions,  however  various  and  afflu- 
ent in  ideas,  however  copious  in  emotional  change 
and  contrast,  must  still,  from  the  most  liberal 
point  of  view,  possess  consistency;  everything 
must  tend  to  an  impression  to  which  all  the  parts 
contribute;  so  that  when  surveyed  in  its  en- 
tirety it  will  appear  that  it  is  one  thing  and  not 
many  things.  Like  an  organism  in  the  natural 
world,  all  the  parts  draw  their  nourishment  from 
the  common  current  of  fife,  and  in  turn  give  that 
life  the  means  of  fulfilling  the  destiny  which  it  was 
intended  to  serve  in  its  own  special  kingdom. 

William  F.  Apthorp,  in  an  interesting  little  essay 
on  The  N on-musician'' s  Enjoyment  of  Music,  cites 
the  case  of  a  concert  goer  who  received  no  intelli- 
gible impression  from  orchestral  music,  all  instru- 

53 


THE  EDUCATION   OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

mental  music  being  equally  meaningless  to  him,  but 
who  intensely  enjoyed  Brahms's  C  minor  sym- 
phony, while  Schumann's  symphony  in  D  minor  left 
him  indifferent,  and  he  asks  the  reader  to  explain 
this  anomaly.  But  Mr.  Apthorp's  paradox,  as  he 
states  it,  is  impossible  —  the  person  in  question 
must  have  obtained  some  kind  of  definite  impres- 
sion from  the  Brahms  symphony,  else  he  would  not 
have  preferred  it  to  the  other.  There  must  have 
been  something  more  perceived  than  mere  "volume, 
dynamic  force,  energy."  We  speak  of  the  hearing 
of  musically  ignorant  people  as  vague,  but  it  is 
never  entirely  vague.  From  even  the  most  be- 
wildering orchestral  complexity  of  a  Strauss  or  a 
Reger  there  will  emerge  bits  of  melody,  rhythm, 
and  tone  color  that  will  convey  notions  of  some- 
thing salient  and  individual.  Hence  the  music 
lover  who  wishes  to  increase  his  enjoyment  does 
not  need  to  be  provided  with  a  new  faculty  — 
he  needs  only  to  be  shown  how  to  develop  the 
powers  of  perception  and  coordination  which  he 
already  possesses  and  to  employ  them  as  the  very 
conditions  of  musical  art  demand. 

"It  is  clear,"  says  Miss  Ethel  Puffer,  "that  the 
real  musical  beauty  is  in  the  melodic  idea;  in  the 
sequence  of  tones  which  are  indissolubly  one, 
which  are  felt  together,  one  of  which  cannot  exist 
without  the  other.  Musical  beauty  is  in  the  in- 
trinsic musical  form.  .  .  .  The  perfect  structure 
will  be  such  a  unity  that  it  will  be  felt  as  one.  .  .  . 
The  ideal  musical  consciousness  would  have  an 

54 


THE  PROBLEM  OF  FORM 

ideally  great  range;  it  not  only  realizes  the  concat- 
enation [of  harmonies  and  keys],  but  it  would 
take  it  in  as  one  takes  in  a  single  phrase,  a  simple 
tune,  retaining  it  from  first  note  to  last.  The  or- 
dinary musical  consciousness  has  merely  a  much 
shorter  breath.  It  can  'feel'  an  air,  a  movement; 
it  cannot  feel  a  symphony,  it  can  only  perceive 
the  relation  of  keys  and  harmonies  therein.  With 
repeated  hearing,  study,  experience,  this  span  of 
beauty  may  be  indefinitely  extended  —  in  the  in- 
dividual, as  in  the  race.  But  no  one  will  deny 
that  the  direct  experience  of  beauty,  the  single 
aesthetic  thrill,  is  measured  exactly  by  the  length 
of  this  span.  It  is  only  genius  —  hearer  or  com- 
poser—  who  can  operate  a  longue  haleine.'^ 

The  early  lessons  in  the  noble  art  of  listening 
to  music  must,  therefore,  deal  much  with  matters 
of  form  and  structure.  For  two  reasons  —  first 
for  the  sake  of  making  the  hearing  definite  and 
complete,  and  second  for  the  pleasure  derived 
from  the  ability  to  recognize  the  composer's  skill 
in  handhng  the  devices  that  make  for  artistic  per- 
fection. Even  though  the  scientific  elements  in 
art  are  agencies  to  higher  ends,  nevertheless,  since 
they  are  a  sine  qua  non,  a  full  appreciation  of  art 
is  not  possible  without  some  knowledge  of  their 
functions,  and  the  ability  to  appraise  them.  The 
parts  which  are  welded  together  by  the  composer's 
craft  are  not  only  beautiful  in  themselves  but  still 
more  beautiful  in  their  relations  of  mutual  service. 
Many  people  who  praise  music  rapturously  miss 

55 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

this  great  distinctive  element,  without  which  there 
is,  properly  speaking,  no  art.  What  they  lose  is 
not  only  valuable  in  respect  to  immediate  im- 
pression but  necessary  to  make  the  impression 
permanent.  As  I  have  already  said,  a  dim  recol- 
lection of  emotional  states  is  not  sufficient  for  one 
who  desires  that  art  should  contribute  to  the  riches 
of  the  intellectual  life.  One  longs  for  a  concrete 
image  that  can  be  retained,  reviewed,  and  recog- 
nized at  a  later  appearance,  and  the  condition  of 
this  objective  reality  lies  not  in  memories  of  pleasant 
excitement,  nor  even  in  memories  of  harmonic  and 
orchestral  color,  but  in  memories  of  form.  Form 
is  not  only  an  indispensable  means  by  which  the 
artist  makes  clear  to  himself  and  communicates  to 
others  the  impulse  that  stirred  his  soul  to  utter- 
ance, but  it  is  in  itself  a  thing  to  be  admired  by 
reason  of  the  beauty  that  lies  in  proportion,  order, 
and  unified  variety.  The  random  hearer  of  mu- 
sic, like  the  nonchalant  stroller  in  cathedral  aisles, 
perceives  the  variety  but  not  the  unity.  He  is  not 
drawn  by  the  intellectual  strength  that  controls  the 
rebellious  forces  which  the  artist  wields.  There 
is  an  inexhaustible  delight  in  following  the  artist's 
plan  as  he  develops  his  motives,  builds  up  his  de- 
signs, and  adjusts  his  melodies,  rhythms,  and  har- 
monies into  patterns  of  grace  and  symmetry. 

In  no  art  can  this  factor  be  omitted  by  the  dil- 
ettante. In  every  good  painting  the  artist  selects, 
rejects,  and  arranges;  never  does  he  give  a  literal 
photographic  reproduction  of  his  subject.     Straight 

56 


THE  PROBLEM  OF  FORM 

lines  and  curves  echo  or  supplement  one  another; 
objects  balance  and  relieve  one  another;  masses, 
colors,  lights  and  shades  are  arranged  for  the  pur- 
pose of  variety,  reinforcement,  and  concentration; 
the  observer's  eye  is  directed  by  a  multitude  of 
subtle  expedients  to  the  central  point  of  interest. 
Even  in  literature  the  same  principle  holds  good. 
The  casual  reader  who  studies  Professor  Richard 
G.  Moulton's  Shakespeare  as  a  Dramatic  Artist  and 
Professor  Bhss  Perry's  Art  of  Fiction  will  have  his 
eyes  opened  to  the  importance  of  form  and  ar- 
rangement even  in  those  departments  of  art  where 
the  author  had  seemed  most  free  to  follow  nature 
unrestrained. 

When  listening  to  music  is  active  and  not  passive 
there  are  two  mental  operations  involved,  viz., 
expectation  and  recollection.  One  reason,  doubt- 
less, why  a  musical  work  that  is  worthy  of  repetition 
is  more  enjoyed  at  subsequent  hearings  than  at  the 
first  is  because  these  two  faculties  are  more  and 
more  alive.  Not  only  is  expectation  aroused  from 
moment  to  moment,  but  expectation  is  satisfied, 
giving  the  pleasure  that  is  at  the  bottom  of  a  large 
share  of  our  mental  and  physical  enjoyments  — 
that  of  relief  following  a  sense  of  effort.  Memory, 
becoming  more  exact  while  at  the  same  time  it 
reaches  over  a  larger  surface,  retains  impressions  of 
beauty  when  sounds  have  ceased,  and  joins  them 
in  reinforcement  to  beauties  present  and  to  come. 

In  the  music  lover's  initiation  into  the  mys- 
teries of  structure  he  will  make  trial  of  the  simpler 

57 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

and  more  regular  forms  first,  and  that  means,  of 
course,  the  so-called  classic  forms.  To  plunge  into 
the  complexities  of  Wagner  and  the  subtleties  of 
Debussy  before  one  is  able  to  trace  the  design  of  a 
Mendelssohn  "Song  without  Words"  would  result 
only  in  mental  confusion.  The  commonplace  rules 
of  all  education  are  sufficient  guides.  The  classic 
forms  and  diatonic  harmonies  are  to  be  chosen  at 
the  beginning  because  they  are  the  basis  of  modern 
musical  structure,  and  the  study  of  them  clears 
away  from  the  student's  mind  those  difficulties 
that  are  greatest  because  they  are  fundamental. 
The  first  chapters  in  the  book  of  form  will,  there- 
fore, deal  with  the  song  form,  the  sonata,  the  rondo, 
the  variation,  and  the  fugue. 

The  study  of  form  may  for  convenience  be 
divided  into  two  departments,  viz.,  rhythmic  struct- 
ure and  thematic  development.  For  the  sake  of 
clearness  it  seems  best  to  me  to  transfer  the  consid- 
eration of  the  first  to  the  chapter  on  melody  and 
rhythm,  simply  premising  that  the  logical  method 
in  instruction  would  be  to  exercise  the  learner  in 
the  recognition  of  the  fundamental  metrical  struct- 
ure of  section,  phrase,  and  period  as  the  basis  of 
order  in  the  variety  of  rhythmic  figuration,  before 
he  makes  acquaintance  with  the  larger  specialized 
forms,  rhythmic  arrangement  being  primary  and 
universal  in  music,  thematic  alteration  being  derived 
and  secondary. 

In  the  more  highly  organized  musical  composi- 
tions the  variation  of  theme  constitutes  the  device 

58 


THE  PROBLEM  OF  FORM 

whose  happy  discovery,  together  with  the  princi- 
ple of  repetition  and  relativity  in  tonality  and 
rhythm,  gave  to  musical  architecture  its  sym- 
metry, unity  of  design,  and  stability.  Its  impor- 
tance has  been  variable.  The  classic  masters  were 
content  with  a  few  themes,  and  concentrated  their 
effort  on  the  modification  and  combination  of  these, 
while  the  invention  of  a  lavish  profusion  of  novel 
ideas  has  been  more  consciously  the  aim  of  the 
romantic  composers.  Nevertheless,  the  subjec- 
tion of  themes  to  ever-changing  aspects  of  shape 
and  color,  and  the  dominance  of  certain  tonalities, 
have  always  been  held  as  the  chief  means  by  which 
musical  invention  is  to  be  restrained  from  falling 
into  a  license  and  disorder  that  would  defeat  its 
own  purpose.  The  listener,  therefore,  must  hold 
in  his  mind  the  thought  of  organized  develop- 
ment as  he  follows  a  performance  phrase  by  phrase. 
He  must  know  something  of  the  possibilities  that 
lie  in  thematic  work,  the  processes  employed  by 
the  masters  in  the  evolution  of  movements  out  of  the 
leading  themes  and  motives.  "An  exact  survey  of 
the  nature  and  means  of  the  art  of  thematic  con- 
struction," says  Arrey  von  Dommer,  "can  be  ob- 
tained by  any  one  who  can  read  notes  or  play  the 
piano  to  some  extent.  Whoever  accustoms  him- 
self to  study  music  from  this  point  of  view  will  in 
a  short  time  obtain  from  any  composition  a  far 
higher  enjoyment.  He  who  considers  the  matter 
earnestly  will  perceive  an  organic  life  where  be- 
fore he  was  conscious  only  of  details,  indistinct 
59 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

outlines,  detached  fragments  of  melody,  rhythm, 
or  harmony.  To  hear  music  correctly  and  with 
intelligence,  to  perceive  and  comprehend  a  musical 
composition  as  a  work  of  art  developed  organically 
out  of  an  idea,  must  always  be  the  effort  of  the 
music  lover.  To  accomplish  this  one  must  have 
far  more  than  the  ability  to  be  agreeably  excited 
by  musical  sounds.  Where  one  person  is  satisfied 
with  a  mere  superficial  pleasure  and  a  comfortable 
feeling  of  idle  reverie,  perceiving  nothing  but  a 
mere  hazy  and  uncertain  succession  of  tone  pictures, 
the  expert  musician  sees  a  fulness  of  animated 
forms,  proceeding  from  one  another  and  flowing 
into  one  another,  all  closely  united  by  a  firm 
spiritual  tie.  The  artificial  enthusiasm,  or  the 
hardly  concealed  indifference,  which  one  often  ob- 
serves in  concert  halls,  even  in  the  performance  of 
masterpieces,  shows  plainly  enough  how  super- 
ficially in  most  cases  music  is  heard,  and  that  in 
such  instances  there  is  a  complete  absence  of  any 
real  love  of  the  art.  Where  one  finds  himself 
falling  into  this,  there  must  by  all  means  be  an 
effort  to  come  into  a  closer  understanding  of  the 
subject.  The  study  of  the  development  of  themes 
and  phrases  is  the  first  condition  of  a  true  art  under- 
standing; besides  that,  it  is  an  inexhaustible  source 
of  constantly  renewed  enjoyment." 

The  only  amendment  that  should  be  made  to 
this  very  satisfactory  statement  is  that  even  one 
who  cannot  read  notes  or  play  the  piano  need  not 
be  shut  out  from  the  privilege  of  recognizing  themes 

60 


THE  PROBLEM  OF  FORM 

and  following  them  in  their  chameleon-like  changes. 
A  few  repetitions  of  themes  will  enable  the  ear  to 
hold  them  by  their  salient  features,  and  with  ex- 
perience there  will  be  constant  growth  in  the  power 
of  systematic  observation. 

At  this  point  it  is  time  to  bring  in  a  qualification. 
It  is  very  easy  to  overdo  the  matter  in  expounding 
musical  analysis,  and  use  it  as  a  means  of  suppress- 
ing imagination  and  chilling  emotion.  Form, 
structure,  harmony,  and  counterpoint  are  to  be  ex- 
plained only  so  far  as  a  knowledge  of  their  laws  is 
useful  for  the  training  of  the  observation  and  con- 
firming the  power  to  appreciate  aesthetic  unity. 
The  novice  need  not  know  an  inversion  from  a 
suspension;  double  counterpoint  need  not  be  even 
a  name  to  him;  these  things  are  no  more  required 
for  the  enjoyment  of  music  than  a  familiarity  with 
metrical  terminology  is  needed  for  the  enjoyment 
of  poetry.  The  essential  thing  is  to  hear  the  subtle 
accents  and  shades  in  verse  melody,  to  hear  every- 
thing that  goes  on  in  a  fine  piece  of  music,  not  to 
label  and  classify  scientific  devices.  Many  teachers 
are  so  enamored  with  the  theoretical  side  of  their 
art  that  they  carry  the  dissection  of  form  to  a 
superfluous  excess  and  encourage  pedantry  rather 
than  real  aesthetic  perception.  The  instructor  will 
often  find  among  his  disciples  prosaic  natures  who 
readily  acquire  a  lively  interest  in  the  mechanical 
construction  of  musical  compositions;  they  love  to 
see  the  "  wheels  go  'round  " ;  whether  a  work  is  beau- 
tiful or  not  is  a   minor  consideration,   provided 

6i 


THE  EDUCATION   OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

it  furnishes  them  an  opportunity  for  gratifying 
their  morbid  passion  for  analysis.  Such  are  to  be 
found  in  a  certain  class  of  Wagner  enthusiasts,  who 
are  so  busy  in  identifying  the  ''leading  motives" 
which  they  have  found  in  the  "guides"  that 
they  are  often  cold  to  the  splendor  and  passion  of 
the  music.  On  the  other  hand  there  are  musical 
devotees,  for  whom  we  should  cherish  respect,  who 
revolt  at  this  whole  process  of  vivisection.  The 
dry  exposition  of  subject  and  counter-subject,  of 
phrase  and  period,  of  link  passage  and  codetta, 
is  an  offence  to  them.  They  heap  contumely 
upon  the  "analytical  program."  They  shout 
amen  to  the  opinion  of  Debussy  who,  as  Mrs. 
Liebich  tells  us,  introduced  his  salutatory  as  musi- 
cal critic  of  the  Revue  blanche  with  the  announce- 
ment that  he  should  endeavor  to  trace  in  a  musical 
work  "the  many  different  emotions  which  have 
helped  to  give  it  birth,  and  also  to  demonstrate  its 
inner  life.  This  will  surely  be  accounted  of  greater 
interest  than  the  game  which  consists  in  dissecting 
it  as  if  it  were  a  curious  timepiece.  Men  in  gen- 
eral forget  that  as  children  they  were  forbidden  to 
dismember  their  playthings,  but  they  still  persist 
in  poking  their  aesthetic  noses  where  they  are  not 
wanted."  Felix  Weingartner  points  out  a  danger 
from  the  excessive  study  of  treatises  on  form  and 
analytic  program  books,  when  he  says:  "As 
we  are  trained  by  reading  program  books  and 
guides  to  hear  and  look  at  the  works  not  in  their 
entirety  but  in  detail,  it  is  only  the  small  minority 

62 


THE  PROBLEM  OF  FORM 

who,  on  hearing  a  new  composition,  consider  the 
general  impression  of  the  whole  before  commencing 
to  consider  the  details;  yet  these  latter  can  only  be 
comprehensible  by  and  in  view  of  the  ensemble.''^ 

The  answer  to  these  objections  has  been  given  in 
the  preceding  pages.  The  wisdom  of  the  warning 
must,  however,  be  acknowledged  and  the  saving 
doctrine  found  between  the  two  extremes.  On 
the  whole  it  may  be  said  that  the  dangers  that  lie 
in  the  emphasis  upon  technicalities  are  less  than 
the  dangers  of  ignorance.  It  is  with  art  as  it  is 
with  nature  —  the  lore  of  birds  and  plants  and 
trees  need  not  check  but  may  stimulate  the  sense 
of  beauty  and  the  ardor  of  mystical  companionship. 
The  most  impassioned  writers  on  nature,  the 
most  eloquent,  the  most  alive  to  the  broad  aspects 
and  the  poetic  suggestions,  are  the  men  of  scientific 
knowledge,  with  powers  accustomed  to  minute  ob- 
servation. The  discriminating  vision,  certainly,  is 
not  sufficient  alone;  there  must  be  the  large  syn- 
thesis and  the  impulsive  joy.  Not  every  botanist 
would  be  an  acceptable  walking  companion  for 
Wordsworth  or  Hazlitt.  When  observation  has 
done  its  work  and  the  sight  is  cleared,  one  asks 
for  "that  undisturbed  silence  of  the  heart  which 
alone  is  perfect  eloquence."  The  learning  of  the 
laboratory  may  miss  the  last  secret.  The  rich  and 
rare  combination  is  that  of  the  naturalist's  eye  and 
the  poet's  soul. 

This  development  of  the  analytic  and  the  syn- 
thetic powers  in  cooperation  is  one  of  the  finest 

63 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

gains  of  the  study  of  musical  form.  This  apprecia- 
tion of  form,  it  must  be  emphatically  observed, 
should  be  as  liberal  and  elastic  as  form  itself  has 
proved  to  be  in  the  evolution  of  modern  music. 
The  classic  patterns  of  sonata,  rondo,  and  fugue 
served  a  necessary,  an  inevitable  purpose  in  the  pro- 
gressive upbuilding  of  musical  art,  and  the  works 
of  Bach,  Mozart,  and  Beethoven  stand  in  monu- 
mental dignity  for  the  admiration  of  all  coming 
generations.  But  in  the  fulness  of  time  these  forms, 
having  served  their  end,  tend  to  loosen,  expand, 
and  disintegrate;  the  elements  of  which  they  are 
composed  —  the  phrase  and  the  period  —  readjust 
themselves  into  other  schemes  of  design.  The 
later  tendency  has  been  to  proceed  from  strict  form 
to  free  form.  The  composer  is  no  longer  bound  to 
adhere  to  an  authoritative  model,  which  was  de- 
vised when  the  development  of  strict  form  was 
the  supreme  requirement  for  artistic  advancement. 
This  technical  mastery  is  at  last  attained  and  the 
composer  now  makes  expression  his  supreme  end, 
the  feeling  and  the  contrast  of  feeling  determining 
the  form,  regular  or  irregular,  according  to  the 
wilfulness  of  the  moment.  This  emancipation  of 
the  art  from  the  restraints  of  strict  form  has  been 
especially  manifest  in  vocal  music.  Wagner  has 
shown  us  with  admirable  clearness  in  TJie  Music 
of  the  Future  and  in  Actor  and  Singer  how  the 
aria  form,  which  had  become  standardized  in  the 
opera,  forbade  a  free  development  of  a  continuous 
dramatic  idea  by  breaking  up  a  scene  into  a  num- 

64 


THE  PROBLEM  OF  FORM 

ber  of  isolated  fragments  which  he  calls  "tunes," 
consisting  of  two  or  three  symmetrical  divisions,  and 
separated  by  dry  recitatives.  Under  this  plan  the 
action  could  move  only  by  fits  and  starts,  and  no 
large  and  comprehensive  scheme  of  poetic  develop- 
ment was  possible.  It  was  as  if  Shakespeare  had 
been  compelled  to  write  the  speeches  of  his  charac- 
ters each  in  a  prescribed  number  of  hnes  and  place 
them  at  regular  distances  apart.  Nothing  less 
could  content  Wagner  than  "turning  the  whole 
full  stream  to  which  Beethoven  swelled  German 
music  into  the  channel  of  the  musical  drama." 
By  this  he  meant  not  Beethoven's  sonata  form 
and  proportionally  measured  periods,  but  the 
richness,  the  unlimited  abundance,  the  continu- 
ous flow  of  the  Beethoven  music,  where  there  was 
no  "framing  of  a  melody,"  no  padding  with  con- 
ventional passage  work,  but  where  "everything 
became  melody."  Wagner's  form  is  a  form  that 
is  not  molded  by  any  mechanical  pattern,  but  one 
that  grows  directly  out  of  the  buoyant  expansive 
impulse  that  inspires  the  poetry  and  the  action. 
Each  situation,  each  line  even,  has  its  own  individ- 
ual movement.     The  form  is  completely  free. 

The  same  tendency  is  seen  in  the  song,  from 
Schubert  to  Hugo  Wolf.  In  such  a  song  as  "Who 
is  Sylvia?"  or  "Leise  fiiehen  (The  Serenade)"  the 
melodic  form  is  conventional  and  would  be  as  well 
suited  to  many  other  poems.  But  in  "The  Phan- 
tom Double"  and  "Death  and  the  Maiden,"  many 
of  the  songs  of  Schumann,  most  of  the  songs  of 

65 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

Grieg  and  Strauss,  perhaps  all  of  the  songs  of 
Wolf,  the  form  of  each  melody  belongs  to  the 
particular  poem  to  which  it  is  set  and  to  no  other. 
The  form  is  free,  irregular  so  far  as  musical  design 
is  concerned.  And  the  hearer  must  perforce  listen 
to  the  music  from  the  standpoint  of  the  words,  and 
the  form  beauty  is  not  one  of  space  proportions  or 
a  circle  of  tonalities,  but  a  beauty  of  adaptation. 

This  principle  has  been  carried  over  to  that  de- 
partment of  instrumental  music  known  as  "repre- 
sentative" or  ''illustrative"  music.  A  subject  hke 
Liszt's  "Preludes"  or  Strauss's  "Death  and  Glo- 
rification"— a  subject  that  has  literary  or  pictorial 
progress  and  conclusion — cannot  follow  any  one 
of  the  orthodox  schemes  of  design.  As  a  whole 
and  in  details  the  music  must  issue  from  the  poetic 
idea  and  imagery.  The  form  is  free,  and  there 
may  be  as  many  forms  as  there  are  program  sym- 
phonies or  symphonic  poems. 

In  abstract  instrumental  music  also  this  eman- 
cipating impulse  has  been  felt.  In  such  works  as 
Tchaikovsky's  last  symphony  and  Chopin's  Bal- 
lades and  Fantaisies  the  composer  is  as  unshackled 
in  the  shaping  of  the  entire  outline  as  he  is  in  the 
invention  of  his  melodies.  The  themes  may  or 
may  not  "develop"  according  to  the  classic  method. 
It  is  of  no  consequence  where  they  are  repeated  or 
whether  they  are  repeated  at  all.  In  succession  of 
keys,  in  balance  of  rhythmic  figures,  the  composer 
is  constrained  by  no  outward  pressure  of  custom, 
but  only  by  an  inner  compulsion  which  bids  him 

66 


THE  PROBLEM  OF  FORM 

put  his  emotion  into  a  form  which  will  give  that 
emotion  an  unimpeded  outlet. 

There  is  a  class  of  critics  at  the  present  day,  in- 
cluding some  of  our  ablest  writers,  who  joyfully 
hail  these  later  tendencies  as  a  sign  of  the  abroga- 
tion of  the  formal  principle,  as  the  triumph  of 
feeling  over  convention,  the  close  approach  to  ulti- 
mate truth.  But  these  writers  hardly  mean  all  that 
they  seem  to  say.  The  adaptation  of  parts  to  a  com- 
mon aim  is  the  very  condition  of  life  in  art;  with- 
out unification  of  plan  art  dies,  for  incoherence  is 
the  negation  of  art.  Their  protest  is  actually  di- 
rected against  the  despotic  subjection  of  art  to 
certain  standardized  types  of  form.  Even  in  Wag- 
ner's dramas  and  Elgar's  oratorios  and  Debussy's 
tone-poems,  with  their  unrestrained  pliancy  and 
power  of  instantaneous  adjustment  to  thought  and 
situation,  there  is  no  violation  of  the  supreme  law, 
liberally  interpreted.  Forms  change  but  form  re- 
mains. 

Form  in  the  bolder  practice  of  the  present  day 
grows  from  within  outward.  It  is  plastic,  is  not 
bound  to  imitate  an  academic  model,  but  is  shaped 
to  the  special  needs  of  the  subject  or  motive,  find- 
ing its  sole  business  to  bring  that  to  expression  by 
whatever  novelty  of  device  is  most  efl&cient.  The 
music  lover,  training  himself  to  recognize  and  fol- 
low musical  structure  as  a  development  out  of  cer- 
tain germ  ideas,  must  also  recognize  in  every  case 
the  purpose  for  which  the  form  exists,  whether  this 
form  be  strict  or  free.     The  error  of  the  oppo- 

67 


THE  EDUCATION   OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

nents  of  Liszt  and  Wagner  consisted  in  setting  up 
certain  necessary  and  admirable  forms  as  infal- 
lible and  immutable  standards;  it  was  the  error 
of  those  in  all  times  who  have  opposed  free- 
dom in  art  because  they  could  not  see  that  form 
is  a  means  and  not  an  end.  Formlessness  indeed 
is  fatal;  but  at  the  same  time  the  conception  of 
what  constitutes  proper  form  must  be  left  to  those 
who  create,  and  must  be  allowed  to  obey  and  not 
to  control  invention.  As  "the  thoughts  of  men 
are  widened  with  the  process  of  the  suns,"  so  old 
modes  and  fashions  of  expression  are  left  behind. 
Forms  live  and  grow  because  the  spirit  grows. 
Three  hundred  years  ago  Edmund  Spenser,  in  his 
Hymne  in  Honour  of  Beautie,  uttered  what  comes 
near  to  the  central  truth  of  art: 

"So  every  spirit,  as  it  is  most  pure, 
And  hath  in  it  the  more  of  heavenly  light, 
So  it  the  fairer  bodie  doth  procure 
To  habit  in,  and  it  more  fairely  dight 
With  chearefull  grace  and  amiable  sight; 
For  of  the  soule  the  bodie  form  doth  take; 
For  soule  is  form  and  doth  the  bodie  make." 


68 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  BEAUTY  OF  MELODY  AND  RHYTHM 

In  the  foregoing  discussion  the  word  form  has 
been  used  rather  vaguely,  for  my  purpose  is  to 
study  the  action  of  music  upon  the  mind  of  the 
music  lover  so  far  as  it  has  to  do  with  his  immediate 
enjoyment,  and  not  to  draw  up  a  treatise  on  the 
scientific  materials  of  music  which  would  pass 
muster  before  an  examining  board  of  theorists. 
In  speaking  of  form  I  have  had  in  mind  what 
Gurney  calls  "the  individualizing  element,  the  ele- 
ment by  which  things  are  known  and  recognized." 
Form — melodic,  harmonic,  or  rhythmic — is  that 
which  imparts  a  notion  of  plan,  order,  consistency, 
organization  among  successions  either  of  single 
tones  or  masses  of  tones.  Whether  under  such  a 
designation  as  "sonata  form"  including  the  whole 
compass  of  a  composition,  or  the  contour  of  a  com- 
ponent as  small  as  a  single  motive,  or  a  chord  com- 
bination that  establishes  a  definite  tonality  or  group 
of  tonalities — form  consists  in  any  arrangement  of 
auditory  images  which  gives  the  notion  of  some- 
thing individual  and  self-consistent.  The  recog- 
nition of  design  and  unity  amid  variety  is,  as  I 

69 


THE   EDUCATION   OF  A   MUSIC   LOVER 

have  tried  to  show,  the  prime  condition  of  the 
appreciation  of  a  musical  composition  as  a  work 
of  art.  On  this  basis  we  can  discuss  a  composi- 
tion with  our  neighbor,  confident  that  we  have 
both  received  impressions  that  are  sufficiently  defi- 
nite to  permit  comparison  of  opinions. 

Among  the  components  of  musical  effect  melody 
seems  to  claim  the  first  consideration,  for  whatever 
may  be  said  of  the  sensuous  charm  and  expres- 
sional  value  of  harmony  and  tone  color,  it  is  certain 
that  the  fundamental  musical  consciousness  is  that 
of  progression  from  point  to  point,  with  the  rhyth- 
mic melodic  outline  as  the  essential  agency  that 
binds  the  whole  together  into  a  coherent  self-sup- 
porting entity.  Rhythmic  accent  is  doubtless  still 
more  fundamental  as  mere  sense  impression,  but 
as  beats  of  varying  degrees  of  force,  or  periodic 
variations  of  tone  lengths,  do  not  in  themselves 
produce  a  musical  outline  without  a  perception  of 
definite  changes  of  pitch,  the  impression  of  tune- 
fulness, with  a  more  or  less  apparent  rhythmic 
distribution,  is  the  prime  source  of  the  average 
musical  experience.  Both  taught  and  untaught 
music  lovers  are  more  distinctly  aware  of  rhythmic 
melody  in  the  first  hearing  of  a  piece  than  of  any 
other  feature,  and  among  the  untaught  hearers 
nine  out  of  ten  are  distinctly  observant  of  nothing 
else,  except,  perhaps,  certain  dynamic  and  color 
effects  in  performance.  That  one  passage  is  louder 
than  another,  or  that  a  piccolo  shrieks  or  a 
kettle-drum  rumbles,  would,  of  course,  be  noticed 

70 


MELODY  AND   RHYTHM 

even  by  a  child;  but  it  could  hardly  be  said  that  in- 
telhgence  is  at  work  in  such  an  observation.  When 
the  mind  is  able  to  put  impressions  together  in 
orderly  relations,  it  is  melody  first  of  all  that 
awakens  the  joyful  sense  of  beauty. 

Since  the  consciousness  of  melody  seems  to  be 
so  nearly  instinctive  and  universal,  the  question 
naturally  arises,  Can  an  appreciation  of  melody 
be  increased  by  instruction?  If  by  this  is  meant, 
Can  a  love  of  good  melody  be  awakened  by  techni- 
cal explanations;  can  the  points  of  superiority  in 
certain  melodies  be  pointed  out  in  such  a  way  that 
general  principles  can  be  deduced  to  serve  as  in- 
fallible tests  for  melody  in  general,  the  answer 
must  be  negative.  If  a  listener  does  not  feel  in 
his  heart  that  Schubert's  "Who  is  Sylvia?"  or 
the  theme  of  the  Larghetto  of  Beethoven's  Second 
symphony  is  not  a  better  tune  than  the  latest 
popular  song  that  came  last  week  and  will  be 
forgotten  to-morrow,  there  is  no  possible  way  of 
convincing  him.  We  may  tell  him  that  a  fine 
tune  has  individual  character,  a  sort  of  positiveness 
that  distinguishes  it  from  others  and  takes  firm 
hold  upon  the  memory,  and  he  will  ask  us  if  "Yan- 
kee Doodle"  does  not  meet  these  conditions.  If 
my  friend  asserts  that  "Pop  goes  the  Weasel"  is 
a  better  tune  than  Wolfram's  "Invocation"  I  may 
assert  the  contrary;  but  my  assertion  is  purely  dog- 
matic,, and  I  may  have  no  recourse  at  last  except  to 
call  him  hard  names.  The  only  method  of  bring- 
ing the  Philistine  to  a  better  mind  would  be  to  give 

71 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

him  a  course  in  themes  by  the  great  masters  if  he 
would  submit  to  the  disciphne,  and  if  he  inquired 
why  we  made  these  particular  selections  we  should 
be  obliged  to  fall  back  on  the  general  consent  of 
the  musical  world  as  our  warrant.  To  so  slight  a 
degree  does  anything  like  established  law  reign  in 
matters  of  melody  that  we  are  sometimes  almost 
provoked  to  say  that  a  taste  in  tunes  is  as  irrespon- 
sible as  a  preference  in  salads  or  milliner}'. 

Standards  of  good  and  bad  in  melody  we  feel 
that  there  must  be,  but  when  we  try  to  draw  con- 
clusions that  will  serve  as  laws  we  find  decisions  of 
equally  intelligent  arbiters  varying  with  periods, 
nationalities,  customs,  and  temperaments.  There 
are  melodies,  to  use  Han^lick's  expression,  which 
"once  were  beautiful";  and  we  may  also  believe 
that  there  are  melodies,  now  friendless,  that  some- 
time will  be  beloved.  When  "Tannhauser"  first 
appeared,  the  stock  accusation  against  it  on  the 
part  of  many  professional  musicians  and  critics 
was  that  it  had  no  melody.  The  same  charge  was 
at  one  time  brought  against  Gounod's  "Faust," 
although  to  many  this  will  seem  incredible.  At 
the  first  performance  of  Beethoven's  "Fidelio"  in 
one  of  the  Italian  cities,  an  indignant  hearer  called 
out,  "That  isn't  music,  that's  philosophy."  Wag- 
ner is  now  recognized  as  a  great  melodist,  but 
many  ardent  Wagnerians  deny  the  melodic  gift 
to  Strauss  and  Debussy.  They  may  be  correct  in 
this,  but  in  view  of  past  instances  a  cautious  man 
would  hesitate  in  putting  himself  on  record  with 

72 


MELODY  AND  RHYTHM 

such  an  affirmation.  Many  lovers  of  Beethoven, 
Schubert,  and  Chopin  do  not  find  melody  in  the 
organ  and  piano  works  of  Sebastian  Bach,  while  to 
the  Bach  disciple  these  works  are  flooded  with  mel- 
ody of  a  high  order  of  beauty.  The  precisely  op- 
posite effects  of  Liszt's  melody  on  different  critics 
are  well  known.  Even  the  fact  of  spontaneity  and 
originality,  which  would  seem  at  first  thought  easy 
to  determine,  is  constantly  in  dispute. 

The  explanation  of  many  of  these  anomalies  and 
others  similar  to  them  is  to  be  found  in  habit. 
The  well-known  maxim,  omne  ignotum  pro  mag- 
nijico,  does  not  apply  to  popular  musical  taste. 
Melody  has  undergone  progressive  changes,  es- 
pecially during  the  past  century,  and  where  melody 
is  not  recognized  in  a  new  work  the  explanation 
will  commonly  be  found  in  the  fact  that  the  themes 
are  unlike  those  to  which  the  listeners  have  been 
accustomed.  When  composers  such  as  Wagner 
and  Schubert  have  failed  to  win  approval  at  the 
outset  the  trouble  has  lain  in  the  novelty  of  their 
melodic  forms.  The  difficulty  with  the  average 
man  to-day  is  very  much  what  it  was  with  many 
cultivated  musicians  when  "Tannhauser"  and 
"Lohengrin"  were  first  performed — he  accepts 
as  melody  only  those  successions  of  tones  in  which 
there  is  a  decided  accent  at  equal  distances,  and 
in  which  the  rhythmic  phrases  that  result  are  so 
few  and  so  evenly  balanced  that  the  mind  can 
follow  the  simple  design  with  the  minimum  of 
effort,  and  hence  easily  receives  the  impression  of 

73 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

something  distinct  and  complete.  These  brief 
melodic  forms,  which  writers  nowadays,  following 
Wagner's  appellation,  call  "tunes"  or  "dance 
tunes"  to  distinguish  them  from  melody  in  which 
this  simple  mathematical  proportion  is  avoided,  are 
based  on  the  more  fundamental  harmonic  rela- 
tions, with  regularly  returning  cadences  and  half 
cadences.  No  disparagement  is  implied  in  this 
classification,  for  among  these  rhythmically  square- 
cut  tunes  we  find  some  of  the  finest  inspirations  of 
musical  genius.  Hymn  tunes  are  of  this  charac- 
ter, also  folk  songs,  countless  themes  of  surpassing 
beauty  by  Mozart,  Beethoven,  Handel,  Schubert, 
Verdi,  and  all  the  great  masters  of  song — melodies 
which  the  world  has  taken  into  its  heart  of  hearts  as 
a  treasure  incomparably  precious.  No  training  is  re- 
quired to  appreciate  these,  but  a  restriction  to  them 
on  the  part  of  the  average  man  forbids  him  to  follow 
the  broader  flights  to  which  melody,  especially  in 
the  latter  time,  has  adventured.  Mark  Twain,  after 
hearing  "Lohengrin,"  declared  that  there  was  only 
one  good  tune  in  the  whole  opera,  meaning,  of 
course,  the  "Bridal  Chorus."  It  was  not  that  each 
phrase  in  this  melody  would  have  seemed  to  him  act- 
ually more  beautiful  than  many  other  phrases  in  the 
work  if  an  equally  distinct  impression  could  have 
been  received;  but  here  was  something  terse,  brief, 
and  regular,  the  whole  thing  hung  together,  it  was 
grasped  and  retained  in  consciousness  as  some- 
thing distinct  and  tangible.  Another  hearer  would 
find  satisfying  melody  in   the  king's  prayer  and 

74 


MELODY  AND  RHYTHM 

Elsa's  appeal,  but  little  or  none  in  the  first  part  of 
the  second  act.  To  many  listeners  the  last  act  of 
"The  Mastersingers "  is  a  rather  monotonous  plain 
diversified  by  a  few  melodious  outcroppings,  such 
as  Walther's  "Prize  Song,"  the  Quintet  and  the 
"Mastersingers'  March";  while  in  "Tristan  and 
Isolde"  no  such  salient  points  of  vantage  are  to 
be  found.  The  question  here  is  not  of  good  or 
poor  melody,  but  the  ability  to  recognize  any 
melodic  contour  at  all. 

Whatever  may  be  said  of  the  possibility  of  de- 
veloping taste  in  melody,  it  will  not  be  denied, 
I  think,  that  one  persistent  aim  on  the  part  of  the 
immature  music  lover  should  be  to  develop  the 
power  of  apprehension  beyond  the  confines  of 
the  "tune"  into  those  regions  where  the  great 
composers  have  found  the  amplest  melodic  free- 
dom. The  hearer  must  be  practiced  in  following 
the  melodic  bounding  line  over  larger  and  larger 
spaces.  At  the  same  time  the  unequal  divisions, 
all  the  elevations  and  subsidences  whose  variety 
and  abundance  seem  at  first  to  disappoint  the 
instinctive  demand  for  unity,  must  be  perceived 
as  essential  items  in  the  design.  It  is  only  a 
question  of  extending  the  mental  embrace  to  en- 
fold larger  and  larger  and  more  and  more  intri- 
cate patterns.  One  takes  for  the  starting  point  a 
short  and  symmetrical  form,  such  as  Brahms's 
"Slumber  Song"  or  MacDowell's  "To  a  Wild 
Rose";  the  next  step  reaches  a  form  that  is  larger 
but  without  rhythmic  diversity,  such  as  Schubert's 

75 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

"Wohin?"  or  the  F  major  Etude  in  Chopin's 
Op.  25;  then  to  "through-composed"  songs  of 
Schubert,  Schumann,  or  Strauss,  the  selections 
systematically  varying  in  extent  and  changefulness 
of  structure.  The  release  of  the  mind  from  bond- 
age to  the  four-measure  and  eight-measure  ratio 
in  metrical  division  means  complete  emancipation 
of  the  music  lover  in  his  appreciation  of  melody. 
He  can  now  range  freely  in  the  newly  discovered 
regions  which  modern  music  has  conquered.  In 
the  vast  serpentine  line  of  Wagner's  melos  there 
is  a  titanic  shaping  power  at  work  amid  all  the 
apparent  melodic  confusion;  just  as  in  the  magnifi- 
cent sky  line  of  the  Adirondacks  seen  from  the  hills 
beyond  Lake  Champlain  there  is  balanced  strength 
and  symmetry  in  the  seemingly  irregular  sweep  of 
the  majestic  curves. 

That  this  expansion  of  the  powers  of  observa- 
tion will  be  followed  by  an  increase  of  taste  in  the 
matter  of  sheer  melodic  quality  cannot  be  positively 
asserted,  but  it  seems  reasonable  to  suppose  that 
it  must  be  so.  A  hearer  who  has  trained  his  mind 
to  follow  all  the  sinuous  windings  of  the  tone 
stream  in  a  fugue  by  Bach,  a  symphony  move- 
ment by  Tchaikovsky,  or  an  act  in  a  Wagner 
drama,  joyfully  yielding  his  mind  to  every  ebb 
and  swell  because  he  realizes  that  the  highest  ends 
of  artistic  expression  are  answered  by  this  tidal 
motion,  will  surely  not  fail  to  catch  the  beauty  of 
the  tuneful  phrases  which  are  involved  at  every 
turn.     A  new  conception  of  melody  will  be  his, 

76 


MELODY  AND   RHYTHM 

one  that  will  by  no  means  deprive  him  of  his  old 
delight  in  melody  of  the  simpler  forms. 

The  secret  of  the  ability  to  follow  all  the  fluc- 
tuations of  melodic  outline  and  to  grasp  the  mul- 
tifarious changes  of  structure,  lies  in  the  cultivation 
of  the  sense  of  rhythm.  Music,  "the  ideal  mo- 
tion," consists  of  a  succession  of  moments  filled 
by  sound,  and  the  gratification  that  comes  to  the 
hearer  depends  for  its  intensity  very  much  upon 
his  consciousness  that  the  tones  and  phrases  are 
swayed  by  some  law  of  order.  Everywhere  in  the 
universe  rhythm  persists;  wherever  there  is  life 
there  is  ebb  and  flow,  action  and  reaction,  oscil- 
lation, vibration,  compensating  forces  that  support 
and  relieve  one  another,  giving  to  the  observer  as 
he  surveys  them  an  impression  of  ease  combined 
with  power.  If  we  mystically  interpret  music  as 
symbolic  of  the  inner  life  of  the  universe,  it  is  by 
virtue  of  its  rhythmic  motion. 

It  is  the  opinion  of  many  scholars  that  rhythm 
precedes  melody  in  historic  sequence,  that  among 
the  lower  races  pleasure  in  the  production  of  tones 
in  regular  beats  is  more  primitive  than  the  desire 
for  changes  in  pitch.  Says  Richard  Wallaschek: 
"Rhythm,  taken  in  a  general  sense  to  include 
keeping  in  time,  is  the  essence  in  music,  in  its 
simplest  form  as  well  as  in  the  most  skilfully  elab- 
orated fugues  of  modern  composers.  To  recall  a 
tune  the  rhythm  must  be  revived  first,  and  the 
melody    will    easily   be    recalled.     Completely    to 

77 


THE  EDUCATION   OF  A   MUSIC  LOVER 

understand  a  musical  work  ceases  to  be  difficult 
when  once  its  rhythmical  arrangement  is  mas- 
tered; and  it  is  through  rhythmical  performance 
and  rhythmical  susceptibility  that  musical  effects 
are  produced  and  perceived.  From  these  several 
data  I  conclude  that  the  origin  of  music  must  be 
sought  in  a  rhythmical  impulse  in  man." 

In  this  dependence  upon  division  of  time  for 
intelligibility  music  conforms  to  the  great  law  of 
proportion  by  which  all  art  is  sustained — propor- 
tion in  space  in  architecture,  painting,  and  sculpt- 
ure, proportion  in  time  in  poetry  and  the  dance. 
Richard  Watson  Gilder  sings: 

"No  poet  he  who  knows  not  the  great  joy 
That  pulses  in  the  flow  and  rush  of  rhythm; 
Rhythm,  which  is  the  seed  and  Hfe  of  life, 
And  of  all  art  the  root  and  branch  and  bloom." 

In  music  the  marked  differences  of  taste  and 
comprehension  among  people  otherwise  of  equal 
intelligence  is  chiefly  due  (where  tone-deafness 
does  not  exist)  to  the  disparities  in  the  ability 
to  perceive  order  and  plan.  People  say,  for  in- 
stance, that  they  do  not  ''understand"  such  and 
such  musical  compositions.  They  mean  by  this 
that  the  mind  does  not  adjust  itself  to  the  rhythmic 
plan  of  the  music,  that  the  combinations  are  too 
intricate  and  changeable  to  be  apprehended  as 
defmilc  coherent  form,  and  a  sense  of  bewilder- 
ment ensues  which  is  fatal  to  pleasure.  No  one 
ever  professes   inability   to   understand   a   simple 

78 


MELODY  AND  RHYTHM 

dance  or  a  march.  One  may  not  like  it  for  any 
reason  or  no  reason,  but  it  will  be  easy  to  follow  in 
its  rhythmic  arrangement  and  therefore  intelligible. 
Unity  without  variety  is  as  unsatisfying,  in  a  dif- 
ferent way,  as  variety  without  unity.  One  reason 
of  the  dislike  for  dances  or  marches  which  many 
feel  may  be  the  monotony  of  the  reiteration  of  strong 
beats,  a  perception  of  regularity  that  is  agreeable 
at  first  becoming  annoying,  because  the  nerve  cen- 
tres affected  are  soon  wearied  by  the  persistent  at- 
tack upon  them.  It  is  evident  that  the  full  degree 
of  pleasure  is  derived  when  there  is  variety  enough 
to  keep  the  expectation  constantly  alive,  and  a 
clear  enough  accomplishment  of  unAy  to  give  an 
impression  of  reason  and  order  in  the  result. 

The  experiences  of  the  individual  in  his  con- 
tact with  ever-increasing  variety  and  freedom  of 
rhythmic  design  is  paralleled  by  the  experience 
of  the  race.  Composers  who  have  pushed  the  art 
of  music  onward  have  done  so  by  enlarging  their 
resources  of  rhythm  and  producing  works  which 
were  beyond  the  ability  of  most  of  their  contem- 
poraries to  grasp  with  intelligent  satisfaction.  It 
has  been  writers  like  Mendelssohn,  who  did  not 
put  any  new  burden  upon  the  rhythmic  appreci- 
ative faculty,  who  have  been  at  once  understood 
and  approved. 

The  first  business,  therefore,  of  the  lover  of  music 
who  wishes  to  keep  pace  with  the  progress  of  the 
art  and  open  his  mind  to  the  beauties  that  meet 
him   in   the   works   of  the  best   composers,  is  to 

79 


THE   EDUCATION  OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

strengthen  his  ability  to  comprehend  complex 
rhythmic  relations.  He  will  find  that  there  are  cer- 
tain tone  patterns  that  are  uniform  in  their  regu- 
larity and  very  obvious  in  their  reiteration  of  a  few 
simple  figures.  The  "tunes,"  which  were  spoken 
of  in  an  earlier  part  of  this  chapter,  are  of  this 
class,  as  well  as  all  passages  in  which  a  dancelike 
movement  is  given  by  means  of  sharp  accents  re- 
curring at  short  intervals.  It  requires  no  educa- 
tion to  recognize  and  follow  these  persistent  beats 
and  parallel  phrases — nothing  but  the  ability  to 
keep  step  in  a  march  or  to  beat  time  uniformly  to 
a  dance.  As  music  becomes  more  highly  organized 
these  simple  rudimentary  forms  give  way  to  freer 
forms,  and  the  listener  whose  rhythmic  reactions 
are  narrowly  limited  finds  himself  utterly  confused 
by  the  complex  tone  patterns  which,  in  their  dis- 
placement of  accents,  avoidance  of  cadences,  their 
interweaving  of  melodic  lines  and  harmonic  mass- 
es, their  cross  currents  and  eddies  of  shifting  tones, 
seem  to  avoid  every  semblance  of  order  and  sys- 
tem. And  yet  it  is  only  a  difference  of  degree. 
Unity  and  plan  are  there  as  well  as  in  the  rudi- 
mentary figures  that  are  so  gratifying  to  the  be- 
ginner's elementary  perceptions.  He  must  sim- 
ply go  to  work,  with  the  assistance  of  some  one 
more  adept  in  these  mysteries,  to  learn  the  method 
by  which  these  puzzling  combinations  resolve  into 
coherence  and  symmetry. 

The  first  glance  at  an  elaborate  musical  score 
seems  to  offer  to  the  neophyte  a  spectacle  of  hetero- 

80 


MELODY  AND   RHYTHM 

geneous  confusion,  for  if  he  marks  off  with  his 
eye  the  httle  compartments  within  the  perpendicu- 
lar bar-hnes  he  discovers  a  bewildering  diversity 
in  the  appearance  of  their  contents.  A  keen  lis- 
tening, however,  reveals  to  him  that  within  this  pro- 
fusion of  "sounding  arabesques"  there  are  distinct 
pulses  or  beats  which  appear  to  supply  the  need  of 
an  underlying  system  of  order.  In  marches,  waltzes, 
and  in  a  multitude  of  compositions  beside,  these 
beats  are  very  aggressive  and  are  followed  without 
much  strain  upon  the  attention;  in  other  works, 
such  as  fugues,  many  forms  of  church  music,  long 
sections  of  Wagner's  dramas,  the  solid  bony  frame- 
work, if  we  may  use  such  a  comparison,  is  dis- 
solved in  a  fluid,  seemingly  shapeless  progression 
of  sounds.  Nevertheless,  in  all  instrumental  com- 
positions and  the  vast  majority  of  vocal  pieces,  the 
mass  of  sound — twisting,  twining,  condensing,  ex- 
panding into  every  variety  of  tone  outline — rests 
firmly  upon  a  steady  support  of  beats  and  simple 
measure  combinations,  and  the  recognition  of  the 
underlying  principle  of  order  gives  to  the  hearer  the 
happy  intimation  that  within  the  flood  of  music  there 
is  definiteness  and  reason.  Just  as  the  profusion  of 
ornament  upon  capitals,  architraves,  friezes,  and  cor- 
nices rests  upon  columns  or  arches  standing  at  equal 
distances  from  one  another,  so  in  music  the  multi- 
farious forms  of  rhythmic  figuration  are  saved 
from  incoherence  by  the  throb  of  the  steady  pulses 
within.  Or  we  may  compare  the  arrangement  to 
curves  or  waves,  the  basic  or  typical  curves,  which 

8i 


THE  EDUCATION   OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

are  regular,  being  overlaid  by  other  curves  which 
are  free  to  take  any  length,  to  interlace,  even  at 
times  to  interfere  with  one  another.  Compar- 
isons are  more  or  less  confusing,  but  analysis  shows 
that  in  music  are  united  two  rhythmic  conceptions 
—  one,  which  we  may  call  the  figuration,  giving 
variety,  the  other,  which  we  may  call  the  metre, 
giving  simplicity,  definiteness  of  structure,  and 
regularity.  The  unit  of  metre  is  the  measure,  cor- 
responding in  a  general  way  to  the  foot  in  verse. 
The  measure  is  either  double  or  triple  in  respect 
to  its  accent  scheme,  these  fundamental  accents  oc- 
curring at  intervals  of  two,  three,  or  four  beats,  as 
indicated  by  the  measure  sign — |,  -|,  |,  etc.  The 
measure  units  are  themselves  combined  into  distinct 
groups  known  as  sections,  phrases,  and  periods,  the 
points  of  separation  and  union  among  them  being 
made  apparent  to  the  ear  by  melodic  and  harmonic 
means  (known  to  theorists  as  cadences,  half  ca- 
dences, interrupted  cadences,  and  the  like)  which 
give  the  impression  of  little  points  of  rest  to  which 
the  music  strives,  only  to  take  a  new  leap  in  its 
career;  or  else,  still  oftener,  points  where  this  ex- 
pectation of  a  subsidence  of  movement  is  disap- 
pointed, this  expectation  nevertheless  affording 
a  definite  point  of  support  for  the  attention.  The 
normal  arrangement  of  measures  which  form  the 
sustaining  arches  of  the  tone  edifice,  is  in  groups  of 
fours,  eights,  and  sixteens.  This  standard  plan  is 
frequently  modified,  and  the  eight  and  sixteen 
measure  outline  gives  way  to  divisions  of  six,  nine, 

82 


MELODY  AND   RHYTHM 

twelve,  and  other  irregular  successions.  Even 
where  the  multiple  of  four  is  retained,  the  com- 
poser loves  to  evade  the  formality  of  the  plan  by 
harmonic  and  rhythmic  devices  that  keep  the 
attention  poised  over  longer  curves.  A  large 
amount  of  metrical  freedom  is  allowed  the  com- 
poser, but  only  on  the  condition  that  he  shall  not 
abuse  the  privilege  and  violate  the  law  of  balance 
and  proportion. 

It  is  the  comparatively  simple  metrical  order, 
therefore,  on  which  the  hearer  must  base  his  at- 
tention. He  must  feel  the  metrical  pulse  beating 
in  the  veins  of  his  own  musical  consciousness, 
and  from  out  the  tangle  of  harmonies,  melodies, 
and  ornamentation  there  will  emerge  the  firm  out- 
line of  a  design  which  makes  everything  coherent, 
and  gratifies  that  innate  sense  of  order  which  gov- 
erns the  instinctive  human  activities  and  is  also  the 
ruling  principle  of  art. 

The  failure  mentally  to  accompany  the  rhyth- 
mic progress  of  a  piece  of  music  is  often  due,  not 
to  a  congenital  lack  of  rhythmic  faculty,  but  to  the 
distraction  of  the  attention  from  the  characteristic 
beat  and  metrical  divisions  by  other  elements  which 
are  for  the  moment  more  engaging — brilliant  pas- 
sage work,  perhaps,  or  glaring  tone  color.  The 
last  of  the  merits  in  good  piano  playing  to  be 
appreciated  by  the  average  listener  is  the  phras- 
ing; but  phrasing  is  simply  making  the  rhythmic 
structure  apparent  to  the  ear.  First  a  general 
knowledge  of  the  foundation  principles  of  musical 
83 


THE  EDUCATION   OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

design  in  distribution  of  metrical  accents  and 
groups  of  accents,  then  the  attention  which  sets  in 
motion  analogous  beats  and  waves  in  the  conscious- 
ness, and  the  listener  will  soon  find  a  new  world 
of  pleasure  opening  within  him.  The  most  in- 
tricate patterns  will  unfold  a  world  of  beautiful 
balanced  forms.  With  experience  there  will  come 
the  ability  to  compare  work  with  work  and  com- 
poser with  composer,  penetrating  many  secrets  of 
style,  estimating  merit  and  gladly  recognizing 
mastery.  The  comparison  of  the  music  of  a  writer 
like  Mendelssohn,  who  is  often  subject  to  rhyth- 
mic monotony,  with  the  rhythmic  affluence  and 
constant  surprise  of  Schubert  or  Schumann;  the 
study  of  the  remarkable  development  of  Wagner 
in  the  command  of  this  side  of  his  art  from  "The 
Flying  Dutchman"  to  "Tristan  and  Isolde"; 
the  analysis  of  the  subtleties  and  mannerisms 
of  Brahms,  of  the  resistless  logic  within  the  pas- 
sionate ebb  and  flow  of  Beethoven,  the  solution 
of  the  rhythmic  puzzles  offered  in  some  of  the 
works  of  the  Russian  school  —  these  interests  en- 
ter strongly  into  the  business  of  the  music  stu- 
dent; and  as  fast  as  they  are  brought  to  the 
attention  of  the  amateur  they  enlarge  the  reach  of 
his  intelligent  judgment.  As  the  sounding  shapes 
which  once  seemed  all  confusion  begin  to  move  in 
his  consciousness  in  reasoned  order  and  mutual 
aid  his  mind  dilates  with  a  sense  of  ease;  he  seems 
to  play,  as  in  a  native  element,  in  these  waves  of 
tone.     The  contrivances  for  temporary  disturbance 

84 


MELODY  AND   RHYTHM 

such  as  syncopation,  irregular  rhythm,  and  cross 
rhythm;  interlacing  curves  in  fugal  counterpoint, 
where  unlike  melodic  figures  seem  struggling  for 
the  mastery  and  rhythm  seems  lost  in  its  own  very 
abundance;  the  restraint  of  the  tonal  whirl  from 
lawless  confusion  by  the  grasp  of  a  few  master 
figures  or  as  (often  in  Beethoven)  by  a  single  mas- 
ter figure;  the  devices  for  imparting  a  sense  of 
tension,  concentration,  and  climax,  or  of  relaxation, 
subsidence,  and  relief,  —  these  tokens  of  creative 
genius,  almost  rivalling  the  living  forms  of  nature  in 
affluence  and  beauty,  are  to  music  what  the  ner- 
vous system  is  to  the  human  organism.  Through 
this  vibrating  network  the  soul  of  the  music  is 
revealed.  It  is  not  merely  the  means  of  obtain- 
ing unity  amid  diversity,  it  is  the  very  life  of  music 
itself. 

The  close  parallel  that  exists  between  the  ac- 
cents and  rhythmic  groupings  of  music  and  the 
posturings  and  evolutions  of  the  dance  is  almost 
too  obvious  to  require  statement.  It  is  not  out  of 
place,  however,  to  call  attention  to  the  usefulness 
of  dancing,  both  to  the  observer  and  the  partici- 
pant, through  the  exercise  it  affords  to  the  rhyth- 
mic sense.  The  revival  of  the  dance  in  our  time 
on  a  higher  plane  than  of  old,  both  on  the  stage 
as  an  art  of  expression  and  in  the  public  schools  as 
a  physical  and  aesthetic  stimulus,  is,  I  believe,  a 
wholesome  sign.  The  dance,  like  music,  has  a  two- 
fold aesthetic  potency:  first,  of  complex  and  unified 
movement,  giving  pleasure  to  the  eye  by  its  flow- 

85 


THE  EDUCATION   OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

ing  lines  that  interweave  in  living  patterns  of  grace, 
and  second,  the  communication  of  mental  states 
through  the  symbolism  of  posture  and  gesture. 
"The  artistic  dancer,"  says  Mr.  Bliss  Carman, 
"uses  bodily  motion  as  a  poet  uses  words,  as  a 
musician  uses  tones,  as  a  painter  uses  colors  — 
as  an  appeal  not  so  much  to  our  reason  as  to  our 
sense  and  spirit — as  a  means  of  enlivening  and 
gladdening  our  nature,  making  us  more  sensitive 
to  beauty,  more  spontaneous  in  glad  emotion,  more 
sane  and  balanced  in  general  well-being."  That 
the  art  of  dancing,  once  cultivated  by  philosophers, 
law  givers,  and  priests  as  an  essential  in  the  train- 
ing of  the  body  and  in  the  free  play  of  the  spirit, 
has  been  degraded  in  the  uses  of  the  modern  stage, 
need  not  deceive  us  concerning  its  possibilities  of 
beauty  both  physical  and  intellectual.  We  can 
have  little  conception  of  what  the  ancient  dance 
was  in  the  period  of  its  ripest  culture.  A  few 
passages  in  the  old  writings  "send  the  imagination 
wistfully  across  the  ages,  straining,  as  it  were,  to 
see  what  must  have  been  some  of  the  loveliest  scenes 
in  Greek  life"  (Royal  Cortissoz).  The  only  ade- 
quate indication  of  what  the  dance  must  have  been 
when  treated  with  profound  seriousness  by  a 
people  to  whom  beauty  was  a  constant  necessity 
of  life,  is  to  be  obtained  from  descriptions  of  Jap- 
anese dances,  such  as  the  account  of  the  ceremonies 
of  the  Bon-odori,  the  Festival  of  the  Dead,  in 
Lafcadio  Hearn's  fascinating  book,  Glimpses  of 
Unfamiliar  Japan.     A  troop  of  girls  are  dancing 

86 


MELODY  AND   RHYTHM 

in  the  moonlight  in  the  temple  court,  near  the 
ancient  place  of  tombs: 

"Under  the  wheeling  moon,  in  the  midst  of  the 
round,  I  feel  as  one  within  the  circle  of  a  charm. 
Verily  this  is  enchantment;  I  am  bewitched,  be- 
witched by  the  ghostly  weaving  of  hands,  by  the 
rhythmic  gliding  of  feet,  above  all  by  the  flitting 
of  the  marvelous  sleeves — apparitional,  soundless, 
velvety  as  a  flitting  of  great  tropical  bats.  .  .  . 
Always  the  white  hands  sinuously  wave  together 
as  if  weaving  spefls,  alternately  without  and  within 
the  round,  now  with  palms  upward,  now  with  palms 
downward;  and  all  the  elfish  sleeves  hover  duskily 
together,  with  a  shadowing  as  of  wings;  and  afl 
the  feet  poise  together  with  such  a  rhythm  of  com- 
plex motion  that,  in  watching  it,  one  feels  a  sensa- 
tion of  hypnotism,  as  while  striving  to  watch  a 
flowing  and  shimmering  of  water.  .  .  .  More  and 
more  unreal  the  spectacle  appears,  with  its  silent 
smilings,  with  its  silent  bowings,  as  of  obeisance 
to  watchers  invisible;  and  I  find  myself  wondering 
whether,  were  I  to  utter  but  a  whisper,  all  would 
not  vanish  forever,  save  the  gray  mouldering  court 
and  the  desolate  temple  and  the  broken  statue  of 
Jizo,  smiling  always  the  same  mysterious  smile  I 
see  upon  the  face  of  the  dancers." 

Such  enchantments  can  be  woven  by  but  two  of 
the  arts  —  the  dance  and  music.  What  is  music 
but  the  transmigration  into  tone  of  the  immemorial 
and  world-embracing  spirit  of  the  dance?  In 
ancient  times  music  was  feeble  and  insignificant, 

87 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

but  a  compensation,  almost  an  equivalent,  was 
found  in  the  beauty  and  expressiveness  of  bodily 
movement.  The  decline  of  the  dance  in  modern 
times  may  be  due  to  the  development  of  a  still 
nobler  substitute.  Not  only  the  spirit,  but  the 
form  of  the  dance  has  passed  into  modern  music; 
historically  the  rhythms  of  instrumental  music,  and 
by  adoption  the  rhythms  of  secular  vocal  music, 
are  to  a  large  extent  derived  from  the  popular  dance. 
This  may  be  almost  intuitively  discerned  by  one 
who,  in  listening  to  a  performance  by  orchestra  or 
piano,  gives  himself  up,  with  closed  eyes  and 
rhythmic  sense  alert,  to  the  swing  and  throb  of 
the  sounding  forms.  And  whenever  one  has  an 
opportunity  to  watch  the  dance  in  its  best  estate 
upon  the  stage,  or  in  its  most  spontaneous  form  in 
folk  dances,  it  will  be  found,  I  think,  that  the  ap- 
preciation of  the  beauty  that  lies  in  music's  "ideal 
motion"  will  be  increased  by  the  practice  of  the 
eye  in  tracing,  amid  the  successions  of  bodily  pose 
and  gesture  and  evolution,  the  harmony  of  regulated 
and  balanced  change. 


88 


CHAPTER  V 

THE   BEAUTY   OF   HARMONY 

Tpie  pleasure  in  melodic  flow  and  rhythmic  ac- 
cent is  universal  except  in  the  case  of  those  un- 
fortunates who  are  unable  to  recognize  differences 
of  pitch  or  regularity  in  recurring  beats,  and  it  re- 
quires, as  I  have  tried  to  show,  only  such  cultiva- 
tion as  will  enable  the  hearer  to  follow  composers 
in  their  elaboration  of  certain  simple  elements. 
With  harmony,  however,  the  case  is  somewhat  dif- 
ferent; a  larger  mental  reach  and  a  more  tenacious 
grasp  are  required  to  comprehend  its  relations; 
and  although  individuals  differ  here  as  elsewhere, 
it  may  safely  be  said  that  a  recognition  of  the  beauty 
that  lies  in  artistically  managed  combinations  of 
simultaneous  sounds  and  the  richly  varied  color 
schemes  of  contrasted  tonalities  is  the  last  among 
the  musical  appreciations  to  be  acquired.  Since  the 
progressive  development  of  harmony  did  not  begin 
until  as  late  as  the  twelfth  century,  it  has  been  the 
fashion  even  among  historians  of  music  to  ignore  the 
existence  of  any  harmonic  sense  up  to  that  time, 
holding  that  the  music  of  primitive  and  ancient 
peoples  is  unison  only.     This  view  can  no  longer  be 

89 


THE  EDUCATION   OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

maintained,  for  it  is  certain  that  many  savage  tribes 
recognize  the  existence  of  musical  intervals,  that 
they  often  sing  two  and  even  more  parts,  and  it  is 
more  than  probable  that  similar  experiments  were 
made  among  the  cultivated  nations  of  antiquity. 
Professor  John  C.  Fillmore,  who  made  extensive 
researches  in  the  music  of  the  North  American 
Indians,  was  undoubtedly  not  deceived  in  the  ap- 
parent pleasure  manifested  by  some  of  his  dusky 
friends  when  their  unison  melodies  were  supplied 
with  simple  chords.  What  we  call  the  beginning 
of  counterpoint  and  harmony  in  the  Middle  Ages 
was  merely  the  first  fruitful  recorded  attempt  to 
devise  a  system  and  evolve  a  theory  of  harmonic 
relations;  the  demand  for  a  richer  and  more  ex- 
pressive utterance  than  successions  of  single  tones 
could  supply  already  lay  dimly  in  the  human  con- 
sciousness. The  dependence  of  melody  upon 
harmony  must  also  be  recognized.  Wallaschek 
justly  remarks  that  "there  is  of  course  no  doubt 
that  our  feeling  for  and  comprehension  of  har- 
mony have  been  developed  by  time,  but  so  has  our 
feeling  for  melody."  "Primitive  harmony  is  no 
doubt  very  rude,  but  primitive  melody  is  precisely 
of  the  same  kind."  "If  we  compare  a  modern  song 
with  an  air  of  savage  races  we  find  the  latter  very 
short,  restricted  to  two  or  three  tones  and  the 
same  phrase  constantly  repeated,  while  our  musical 
themes  are  worked  out,  built  up,  prolonged  and 
varied  so  as  to  form  a  coherent,  elaborate  melody." 
It  does  not  follow  that  the  inability  of  the  savage 

90 


THE   BEAUTY  OF  HARMONY 

to  invent  a  tune  of  more  than  one  kind  of  melodic 
figure  is  due  to  his  deficient  sense  of  harmony;  it 
is  probably  due  rather  to  his  incapacity  for  sus- 
tained thought  and  invention,  for  the  early  Grego- 
rian chant  system,  long  before  the  employment  of 
part  singing  in  the  church,  contained  melodies  of 
great  length,  elaborateness,  and  variety.  But  these 
Gregorian  melodies  are  at  the  same  time  rambling 
and  for  the  most  part  irregular,  except  so  far  as  the 
text  to  which  they  are  set  gives  them  something 
like  rhythmic  order;  it  is  only  on  the  basis  of 
definite  tonality  and  the  relationship  of  tonalities 
involved  in  chord  structure  that  a  melody  that  is 
proportioned,  balanced,  and  satisfying  to  the  mod- 
ern ear  can  be  developed. 

This  process  was  long  ago  virtually  completed 
and  the  psychologic  results  of  it  have  become  the 
inheritance  of  every  person  that  is  in  any  way  sus- 
ceptible to  the  influences  of  music.  The  fact  re- 
mains, however,  that  a  consciousness  of  the  beauty 
and  the  technical  wonders  of  modern  harmony  is, 
with  the  average  untrained  music  lover,  the  weak- 
est of  all  the  impressions  that  compose  his  musical 
world.  It  is  true,  of  course,  that  the  modern  ear, 
however  unrefined,  takes  cognizance  of  a  chord  as 
a  concrete  entity,  so  that  the  most  unmusical  per- 
son feels  that  something  is  lacking  when  a  singer 
sings  or  a  violinist  plays  without  accompaniment. 
Nevertheless,  with  the  common  man  the  harmonic 
images  are  rather  nebulous  and  countless  beauties 
that  enchant  the  musician  are  to  him  practically 
91 


THE  EDUCATION   OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

non-existent.  His  hearing  of  a  musical  perform- 
ance, so  far  as  harmony  is  concerned,  is  Hke  indi- 
rect vision  to  a  stroller  out  of  doors.  In  the  latter 
case  there  is  a  dull  consciousness  of  a  multitude  of 
shapes  and  lights  and  colors  forming  a  sort  of  misty 
fringe  around  the  objects  directly  perceived;  in  the 
former  a  stream  of  sounds  various  in  force,  color, 
and  fulness  of  texture,  but  unruled  by  any  obvious 
plan,  and  with  a  thousand  points  of  interest  blurred 
in  the  mass. 

The  musical  inquirer,  therefore,  will  seek  the 
advice  that  will  aid  him  in  developing  the  faculty 
by  which  he  may  select,  compare,  and  compre- 
hend while  dealing  with  chord  progressions  and 
combinations  of  moving  parts.  The  amateur 
whom  I  have  in  mind  will  be  content  with  the  out- 
lines of  the  vast  science  of  harmony — just  enough 
to  enable  him  to  sift  the  masses  of  sound  that  enter 
his  brain  and  to  recognize  in  them  a  certain  reason 
and  order.  He  should  be  initiated  into  a  few  of 
the  fundamental  distinctions  of  consonance  and 
dissonance,  of  major  and  minor,  of  diatonic  and 
chromatic  harmony,  of  cadence  and  half-cadence, 
of  affiliations  and  oppositions  among  tonalities, 
of  modulation,  of  the  means  by  which  logical  re- 
lations and  symmetrical  design  are  accomphshed 
in  the  succession  of  contrasted  keys.  The  reason 
is  clear — even  a  smattering  of  theoretical  knowl- 
edge puts  the  hearer  on  the  watch,  and  he  is  able 
to  capture  fugitive  beauties  that  once  eluded  him. 
It  can  be  shown  by  examples  how  sometimes  a 

92 


THE  BEAUTY  OF  HARMONY 

striking  point  in  the  melody  really  depends  for  its 
effect  upon  a  peculiar  harmonic  change;  how 
harmony  is  sometimes  used  merely  to  support  and 
enrich  the  melody,  again  for  the  sensuous  delight 
in  sonorous  and  gorgeously  colored  chords,  and 
again  as  a  means  of  definite,  characteristic  ex- 
pression. The  learner  must  form  the  habit  of 
listening  down  through  the  tone  substance,  follow- 
ing the  movement  of  successive  figures  in  the  inner 
and  lower  parts,  instead  of  confining  his  direct  at- 
tention to  the  upper  voice.  He  must  be  vigilant 
to  catch  the  ceaseless  changes  of  consonance  and 
dissonance,  of  major  and  minor,  of  open  and  close 
harmony,  and  the  most  delicate  contrasts  of  har- 
monic color.  He  may  begin  with  the  simpler  har- 
monies, the  so-called  diatonic,  in  which  key 
changes  by  sharps,  flats,  and  naturals  are  few  and 
slight;  choosing  German  chorales,  or  themes  for 
variation  by  Beethoven,  or  simple  songs  by  the 
great  German  Lied  writers,  in  order  that  he  may 
learn  to  appreciate  the  beauty  that  lies  in  plain 
solid  harmony  as  handled  by  masters.  Compar- 
ing these  with  the  thin  popular  ditties  of  the  day 
he  will  at  once  obtain  an  insight  that  will  be  little 
short  of  a  revelation.  After  that,  his  ear  may  be 
practiced  in  more  richly  colored  and  more  intri- 
cate patterns,  until  the  treasures  of  the  great  mod- 
ern harmonists — the  Wagners,  the  Chopins,  the 
Griegs,  the  Francks — will  charm  without  tantahz- 
ing  him. 
The  difl&culty  of  learning  to  follow  harmonic 
93 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

progressions  is  not  so  great  as  at  first  appears. 
For  a  chord,  like  a  single  tone,  is  one  thing  and 
not  three  or  four  things  —  that  is,  so  far  as  the 
immediate  impression  is  concerned.  The  musi- 
cian, as  Browning's  Abt  Vogler  puts  it,  frames 
out  of  three  sounds  "not  a  fourth  sound,  but  a 
star."  These  starry  things  called  chords  are  al- 
most infinite  in  their  possibilities  of  color  arrange- 
ment. When  we  count  up  the  triads,  sevenths, 
ninths,  and  altered  chords  in  the  major  and  minor 
keys  the  number  is  by  no  means  immense,  but 
their  available  combinations  are  practically  end- 
less. The  finest  ear  will  miss  a  great  deal  in  rapid 
passages  abounding  in  chromatic  changes,  and 
the  wise  music  lover  will  take  pains  to  hear  copi- 
ously harmonized  pieces  over  and  over  again.  As 
in  any  exercise  of  the  senses,  improvement  comes 
with  practice;  and  when  guided  by  a  few  general 
principles,  and  with  the  habit  formed  of  listening 
to  everything  from  the  bottom  to  the  top,  he  will 
finally  obtain  possession  of  an  enjoyment  which, 
it  seems  to  me,  is  greater  and  more  lasting  than 
even  the  pleasure  in  melody  and  rhythm.  It  is  a 
fact  with  most  music  lovers  that  melody  and 
rhythm,  captivating  at  first,  will  sooner  or  later 
lose  their  welcome  freshness,  while  a  fine  bit  of 
harmony  gives  a  satisfaction  that  no  amount  of 
repetition  can  diminish. 

The  method  of  hstening  to  all  the  simultaneous 
parts  at  once  must  also  be  employed  in  hearing 
songs,  operas,  solo  performances  of  violin  music  — 

94 


THE  BEAUTY  OF  HARMONY 

everything  in  which  a  performer  plays  or  sings  a 
single  part  with  the  accompaniment  of  another  in- 
strument or  an  orchestra.  The  majority  of  listen- 
ers to  fine  singing  or  violin  playing  are  hardly 
conscious  of  the  accompaniment  at  all,  although, 
as  in  an  immense  amount  of  the  later  dramatic 
and  concert  music,  a  large  proportion  of  the  beauty 
and  expression,  often  the  leading  melody  itself, 
is  given  to  the  orchestra  or  the  piano.  The  mod- 
ern song,  for  example,  is  very  often  a  duet  for  voice 
and  instrument,  and  the  hearer  who  attends  only 
to  one  part  misses  the  half  or  more  than  half. 
Mr.  Lawrence  Oilman  is  quite  right  in  saying  that 
instead  of  finding  fault  with  Wagner's  works  on 
the  ground  that  the  vocal  parts  are  without  musical 
interest  or  emotional  meaning  when  detached  from 
the -orchestral  support,  one  should  see  that  the 
same  thing  is  true  of  any  writing  for  the  voice  al- 
lied with  modern  harmony  in  the  accompaniment. 
Inexperienced  music  lovers  are  constantly  falling 
into  mistakes  of  judgment  when  they  disparage 
vocal  works  because  the  voice  part  does  not  carry 
them  away  on  tuneful  wings.  Let  them  give  heed 
to  the  accompaniment  and  there  they  will  find  their 
recompense. 

The  ear  must  also  be  persuaded  to  the  accept- 
ance of  combinations  at  which  it  naturally  rebels. 
The  experience  of  the  race  of  musicians  who  in 
ancient  Greece  and  the  European  Middle  Ages 
knew  only  the  octave,  fifth,  and  fourth  as  conso- 
nances, afterward  admitted  thirds  and  sixths,  but 

95 


THE  EDUCATION   OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

balked  at  sevenths  unprepared;  then  snatched  a 
fearful  joy  from  haphazard  sharps  and  flats; 
then  long  afterward  proceeded  from  the  diatonic 
principle  to  the  chromatic,  accepted  the  harshest 
dissonanc-es,  and  now  have  become  reconciled  to 
the  audacities  of  Strauss  and  Debussy  and  talk 
bravely  of  quarter  steps  in  the  good  days  to  come, 
—  this  experience  of  the  race  often  finds  a  reduced 
analogue  in  that  of  the  music  lover  who  trustfully 
allows  his  appreciation  of  novel  effects  of  sound  to 
grow  by  exercise.  As  he  becomes  familiar  with 
the  achievements  of  the  masters  in  applying  to  ex- 
pressive uses  the  endless  resources  of  harmony,  he 
is  almost  ready  to  declare,  not  that  he  is  develop- 
ing a  latent  faculty,  but  acquiring  a  new  one.  He 
hears  what  he  never  heard  before,  and  with  each 
new  experience  his  powers  of  observation  and  co- 
ordination increase.  He  perceives  that  music  has 
more  dimensions  than  he  had  supposed.  He 
learns  to  delight  in  the  collision  of  masses  with 
masses,  of  the  infinite  gradations  of  tone  color  as 
chord  impinges  against  chord,  dissonances  resolve 
into  consonances,  the  fair-hued  threads  of  sound 
intertwine  in  patterns  as  subtle  as  those  woven 
upon  Oriental  looms,  no  longer  seeming  incoherent 
and  purposeless  but  obedient  to  an  intelligent  will 
which  brings  light  and  order  out  of  chaos. 

Then  there  is  counterpoint,  that  austere  and  in- 
tricate science,  the  bete  noire  of  students  and  ama- 
teurs. Entrance  must  be  made  into  this  labyrinth, 
just  far  enough  to  enable  the  ear  to  adjust  itself  to 

96 


THE  BEAUTY  OF  HARMONY 

follow  a  number  of  simultaneous  melodic  parts, 
and  obtain  the  definite  impression  that  follows  the 
recognition  of  organized  plan.  The  learner  would 
do  well  to  add  subject,  answer,  counter-subject,  im- 
itation, stretto,  and  episode  to  his  interesting  col- 
lection of  technical  specimens,  but  he  need  not  be 
confused  by  a  multitude  of  contrapuntal  subtle- 
ties that  do  not  contribute  to  the  actual  pleasure 
of  his  hearing.  When  he  learns  to  divide  his  at- 
tention between  two  melodic  progressions  (a  feat 
which  Rousseau  in  a  paradoxical  moment  pro- 
nounced impossible)  he  is  on  the  borders  of  a  new 
world;  he  will  at  last  discover  an  unimagined 
pleasure  in  tracing  the  concurrent  progress  of 
three  or  four  semi-independent  parts  as  they  wreathe 
themselves  together  in  supple  designs;  he  will 
wonder  at  the  composer's  skill,  and  the  climaxes 
will  produce  a  tenfold  effect  by  reason  of  his 
abihty  to  follow  their  cumulative  preparation.  It 
must  not  be  forgotten  that  form  in  itself,  however 
correct,  is  not  necessarily  a  beautiful  thing,  as  we 
speak  of  musical  beauty.  The  tedious  sonatas 
of  Czerny  and  the  immortal  sonatas  of  Beethoven 
are  built  upon  the  same  general  scheme  of  design, 
and  the  cleverest  and  most  regular  fugue  may 
be  unutterably  dreary.  The  recognition  of  con- 
trapuntal structure  is  but  a  means  to  an  end;  the 
beauty  of  a  fugue,  like  the  beauty  of  any  other  musi- 
cal work,  is  one  of  melody,  harmony,  and  rhythm, 
and  the  listener  should  keep  his  mind  open  to  these, 
relying  upon  his  acquaintance  with  structural  de- 
97 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

vices    to    adjust    his    perceptions    at    the    proper 
focus. 

In  order  that  the  student  may  appreciate  the 
value  of  a  fugue  he  must  also  be  taught  what  not 
to  expect,  for  if  he  looks  for  the  buoyant  sweep- 
ing melody,  stirring  dance  rhythms,  and  pungent 
harmonic  contrasts  of  the  freer  modern  forms,  his 
disappointment  will  blind  him  to  the  special  char- 
acteristic beauties  that  actually  lie  before  him. 
Beautiful  bits  of  melody  occur  incessantly  in  the 
fugues  of  Bach,  but  they  may  be  called  incidental 
rather  than  primary,  restricted  by  the  necessity  that 
compels  the  melodic  details  to  contribute  to  the 
working  out  of  a  somewhat  rigid  scheme  of  design. 
In  the  nature  of  the  case  their  purpose  seems  deco- 
rative rather  than  emotional.  The  fugue  is  more 
general  in  its  expression  than  most  other  musical 
forms;  it  is  not  the  natural  channel  for  individ- 
ual feeling.  Hence  the  contrapuntal  style  has  al- 
ways been  extensively  employed  in  church  music, 
for  here  the  suggestion  must  be  that  of  an  ab- 
stract devotional  mood,  rather  than  the  projection 
of  an  impassioned  individual  sentiment.  As  a 
means  of  training  the  ear,  however,  the  fugue  is  of 
unequalled  value  in  the  appreciation  of  the  new 
music  as  well  as  of  the  old.  For,  beginning  with 
the  later  works  of  Beethoven,  the  polyphonic 
principle  has  been  asserting  itself  more  and  more, 
under  modified  conditions,  in  every  form  of  music. 
Following  the  modern  tendency  toward  fulness 
and  complexity  and  the  enrichment  of  every  detail, 

98 


THE  BEAUTY  OF  HARMONY 

all  the  masters  of  the  later  time  have  plunged  into 
the  most  exhaustive  contrapuntal  studies,  and  the 
works  of  Wagner,  Brahms,  Strauss,  Debussy,  Elgar, 
Franck  are  hardly  less  marvels  of  abstruse  learn- 
ing than  those  of  the  great  contrapuntists  of  the 
eighteenth  century.  Witness  the  simultaneous 
presence  of  the  three  leading  themes  in  the  Over- 
ture to  "The  Mastersingers  of  Nuremberg"  — 
indeed  the  whole  score  of  this  drama  is  a  repre- 
sentative instance.  Hardly  less  in  the  works  of 
Schubert,  Schumann,  Chopin,  Grieg,  MacDowell 
—  to  mention  only  a  few  of  the  romantic  group  — 
must  we  learn  to  divide  our  consciousness  and  listen 
not  merely  for  chord  masses  and  surface  melody, 
but  also  for  the  rise  and  fall  of  inner  voices.  In 
songs,  piano  pieces,  religious  music,  operas,  cham- 
ber music,  symphonies,  the  polyphonic  method 
plays  so  huge  a  role  that  without  the  ability  to  dis- 
cover and  trace  the  movement  of  simultaneous  parts 
whole  treasuries  of  expression  will  be  locked  in 
darkness,  and  the  key  that  might  open  the  casket 
lost  beyond  recovery. 

In  view  of  these  facts  there  is  no  more  useful 
practice  for  the  music  lover  who  is  training  his 
perceptions  than  listening  to  string  quartet  per- 
formances. Here  are  no  sensational  effects,  no 
dazzling  displays  of  tone  color  as  in  orchestral 
music,  no  overwhelming  masses  of  sound,  no  vivid 
contrasts,  nothing  to  bewilder,  nothing  to  distract 
the  attention  from  the  melodic  oudines;  the  physi- 
cal  materials  are   reduced  almost   to   the  lowest 

99 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

terms.  Each  instrument  carries  on  a  silver  thread 
of  melody;  each  has  an  equal  right  to  considera- 
tion. Success  in  string  quartet  writing  involves 
the  ability  to  handle  four  melodic  voices  with 
the  utmost  skill  of  the  contrapuntist's  art.  The 
pleasure  that  the  mind  of  the  hearer  receives 
greatly  consists  in  tracing  the  ingenious  and  grace- 
ful lines  as  they  interweave  into  a  tissue  of  intri- 
cate and  constantly  varied  patterns.  He  must  fol- 
low four  voices  at  once,  so  that  no  grace  of  melody 
or  delicacy  of  shading  on  the  part  of  any  instru- 
ment shall  escape  his  notice.  This  affords  a  con- 
clusive test  by  which  the  music  lover  may  know 
how  far  the  training  of  his  ear  has  proceeded. 

The  practical  conclusion  to  be  drawn  from  the 
discussion  of  technique  and  form  which  has  hither- 
to occupied  us,  is  that  the  proper  hearing  of  music 
demands  the  ability  to  hold  the  attention  fixedly 
for  considerable  periods  of  time  upon  one  order 
of  impressions.  No  argument  is  required  to  show 
that  the  power  of  close  unwavering  attention  is  the 
prime  condition  of  any  worthy  intellectual  ac- 
quisition. Most  people  are  defective  in  this  power 
of  sustained  observation,  and  there  is  no  more 
efficient  corrective  than  a  conscientious,  determined 
study  of  musical  works  through  the  ear.  It  is 
undoubtedly  more  difficult  to  attend  to  a  succes- 
sion of  auditory  images  than  to  visual  images. 
This  is  true  even  in  single  impressions;  whereas 
in  music  there  are  many  simultaneous  attacks 
upon  the  ear.     Consider  what  it  means  to  listen  to 

ICO 


THE  BEAUTY  OF  HARMONY 

an  orchestral  performance  —  to  observe  the  con- 
current threads  of  melody  with  the  multitude  of 
rhythmic  figures,  the  resulting  harmonies,  modu- 
lations, and  changes  of  tonahty;  to  identify  the 
different  instruments  and  seize  the  ever-shifting 
gleams  of  tone  color  in  their  multifarious  combi- 
nations. In  the  concert  hall  the  eye  must  suspend 
its  usual  activities,  the  mind  must  cease  that  aim- 
less wandering  which  is  its  usual  occupation  with 
all  of  us.  Careful  listening  to  music  is  an  exercise 
in  mental  athletics,  and  the  ability,  which  grows 
with  discipline,  to  hold  the  volatile  thought  in  the 
firm  clutch  of  the  will  is  not  the  least  of  the  serious 
music  student's  gains. 


lOI 


CHAPTER  VI 

PERFORMANCE:   THE  ART   OF  THE 
PIANIST 

Reference  has  already  been  made  to  the  ob- 
vious fact  that  the  impressions  of  music  depend 
upon  the  abihties  of  an  interpreter  or  a  group  of 
interpreters,  added  to  those  of  the  composer;  that 
while  an  expert  musician  can  derive  considerable 
satisfaction  from  silent  score  reading,  the  ordinary 
music  lover  is  in  no  such  happy  case,  but  must 
obtain  his  musical  joys  by  the  grace  of  certain 
people  who  perform  in  his  presence  for  hire  or 
good  will.  Moreover,  the  question  of  skill  and 
imagination  on  the  part  of  the  performers  enters 
so  largely  into  the  problem,  that  the  very  quality 
of  beauty  lies  almost  as  much  in  their  control  as  it 
does  in  the  brain  of  the  composer,  so  that  to  an 
inferior  composition  there  may  be  imparted  an 
unexpected  charm,  or  a  masterpiece  be  made  al- 
most ridiculous.  Besides  this,  there  are  elements 
of  delightfulness  in  performance  which  do  not 
enter  into  the  composer's  calculation  at  all,  but 
belong  to  the  special  technique  of  reproduction. 
The  enjoyment  of  music,  therefore,  involves  an 
102 


THE  ART  OF  THE  PIANIST 

appreciation  of  the  art  of  the  performer,  and  the 
music  lover  who  is  undergoing  education  in  the 
practice  of  listening  must  acquire  knowledge  of 
the  principles  and  methods  of  playing  and  singing 
in  their  various  departments. 

I  have  chosen  to  confine  the  discussion  of  these 
principles  to  the  specific  instances  of  piano  playing 
and  solo  singing.  A  study  of  performance  by 
orchestra,  string  quartet,  and  chorus,  and  upon 
violin,  organ,  and  other  instruments  would  involve 
a  great  deal  of  repetition,  and  does  not  seem  to 
me  to  be  required  in  view  of  the  discursive  purpose 
of  this  volume.  The  lover  of  music  should  cer- 
tainly become  familiar  with  the  constitution  of  the 
orchestra,  the  powers  and  limitations  of  the  violin 
and  organ,  and  the  general  laws  that  distinguish 
choral  song  from  solo  singing  and  orchestral  play- 
ing. Instruction  in  these  matters  can  easily  be 
obtained  by  inquiries  from  experts,  or  from  cer- 
tain excellent  treatises  which  this  book  of  mine  is 
not  required  to  duplicate.  I  have  selected  piano 
playing  and  solo  singing  because  they  come  con- 
stantly into  the  music  lover's  experience,  and  be- 
cause they  are  typical  of  performance  in  general. 
The  principles  of  musical  expression  are  very 
much  the  same  whatever  the  medium  employed, 
and  the  amateur  who  is  able  to  judge  intelligently 
the  work  of  a  pianist  or  vocalist  will  only  require 
acquaintance  with  a  few  technical  matters  to  re- 
ceive right  impressions  from  all  the  other  means 
of  interpretation. 

103 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

Let  me  pass  at  once,  then,  to  the  question  of 
performance  in  general  and  afterward  to  the  dis- 
cussion of  the  particular  departments  of  the  per- 
former's art  which  I  have  chosen. 

There  are  so  many  applications  of  the  word  art 
to  activities  that  are  diverse,  from  the  "art"  of 
swimming  or  fencing,  to  poetry  or  sculpture,  that 
in  our  despair  of  finding  a  common  basis  for  them 
all  we  sometimes  resolve  to  refuse  the  designa- 
tion to  any  but  a  very  restricted  and  unquestion- 
able category.  When  a  distinct  and  permanent 
"work  of  art"  is  produced,  one  shaped  out  of  pre- 
existing materials,  designed  for  self-expression  or 
the  giving  of  pleasure  rather  than  for  utilitarian 
or  didactic  ends,  or  where  a  decorative  value  is 
added  to  practical  convenience — in  such  prod- 
ucts of  design  and  fancy  as  a  memorial  arch,  a 
poem,  a  statue,  a  picture,  a  piece  of  music,  a 
chiselled  vase,  or  jewelled  ornament  —  we  are  on 
safe  ground  when  we  speak  of  the  laws  and  methods 
of  fine  art. 

There  appears  now  another  division  of  activities 
to  which  in  common  parlance  the  name  of  art  is  ap- 
plied, in  which  an  impression  of  ordered  and 
imaginative  beauty  is  conveyed,  but  without  any 
embodiment  of  the  impulse  in  tangible  or  enduring 
shape.  I  refer  to  the  arts  of  performance,  such  as 
dancing,  acting,  poetic  recitation,  and  musical  re- 
production. In  what  sense  are  these  functions 
artistic?  Is  the  term  by  which  they  are  honored 
in  common  speech  justified  to  the  reason? 
104 


THE  ART   OF  THE  PIANIST 

It  is  evident  that  there  is  need  here  of  still  an- 
other classification.  Dancing  stands  apart  from 
the  other  activities  mentioned  in  that  no  "work  of 
art"  is  at  hand,  no  score,  text,  or  design  to  which 
one  may  refer  for  suggestion  or  comparison;  the 
means  of  effect  are  bodily  movements  and  atti- 
tudes which  vanish  with  the  moments  in  which 
they  appear.  They  had,  indeed,  a  previous  ideal 
existence  in  the  mind  of  the  performer,  and  they 
have  a  subsequent  existence  in  the  memory  of  the 
spectator,  but  there  is  nothing  to  which  the  term 
form  can  be  applied,  and  so  far  from  there  being 
anything  concrete  or  tangible  involved  the  display 
is  a  vision  which  comes  from  the  void  and  into  the 
void  returns.  Nevertheless  it  would  seem  pedantic 
utterly  to  refuse  the  term  art  to  dancing  in  its  best 
estate.  It  is  not  merely  the  overflow  of  physical 
health  and  vigor  in  moving  lines  of  grace  —  it  is 
not  wholly  sensuous,  but  is  capable  of  a  wide  range 
of  emotional  expression.  Among  the  Greeks  and 
the  Japanese — nations  preeminently  endowed  with 
the  love  of  beauty  in  form  and  movement — the 
dance  was  and  is  esteemed  an  art  worthy  of  the 
supervision  of  the  best  minds — an  art  pleasing  to 
men  and  gods.  And  although  in  modern  times,  at 
least  as  a  stage  entertainment,  it  has  fallen  from  its 
former  dignity,  there  are  signs  that  a  revival  is  at 
hand,  and  the  dance,  refined  and  regulated,  may 
take  a  higher  place  than  it  has  lately  held  among 
the  agencies  that  quicken  the  sense  of  beauty  and 
promote  health  of  body  and  mind. 
105 


THE  EDUCATION   OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

Still  less  are  we  justified  in  refusing  tlie  title  of 
art  to  the  actor's  craft.  In  certain  particulars  his 
work  is  related  to  that  of  the  dancer,  in  that  he 
employs  means  that  are  not  external  to  himself  but 
are  identified  with  his  own  physical  organization. 
In  the  use  of  different  timbres  and  degrees  of  vocal 
force  for  purposes  of  expression  he  is  allied  to  the 
singer.  In  his  case  also  there  is  produced  no 
"work  of  art"  which  survives  the  moment  of 
presentation.  The  actor  stands  apart  from  the 
dancer  and  undoubtedly  above  him,  in  that  the 
actor's  whole  aim  is  to  present  in  visible  and  audi- 
ble guise  conceptions  of  the  mind  which  have  al- 
ready been  put  into  permanent  literary  form. 
This  work  of  literary  art,  however,  is  not  yet  com- 
plete; an  essential  element  is  lacking.  A  play  is 
not  a  literary  work  merely;  the  actor  adds  an  ele- 
ment which  fulfils  the  intention  of  the  author, 
and  in  so  doing  he  shows  himself  not  a  mechanical 
imitator  but  a  collaborator  who  contributes  some- 
thing individual  and  original.  Many  effective 
plays  could  be  named  in  which,  during  entire 
scenes,  the  poetic  idea  is  largely  conveyed  by 
vocal  timbre,  facial  expression,  attitude,  gesture, 
and  the  various  details  known  as  "business,"  the 
words  alone  seeming  to  offer  nothing  very  signifi- 
cant. Indeed,  complete  plays,  such  as  the  famous 
UEnfanl  prodigue,  have  been  performed  in  dumb 
show,  plays  abounding  in  incident,  with  interest- 
ing development  of  plot  and  character.  Let  one 
read  the  text  of  the  scene  in  which  Macbeth,  with 
106 


THE  ART  OF  THE  PIANIST 

his  mind  keyed  to  its  murderous  intent,  has  the 
hallucination  of  a  dagger  in  the  air.  One  may- 
read  the  lines  and  not  be  greatly  moved;  but  let 
one  witness  the  scene  as  realized  in  the  actual  pre- 
sentment by  a  competent  actor,  and  it  will  ap- 
pear that  the  poet's  words  are  hardly  more  than  a 
suggestion  from  which  the  player  creates  a  terri- 
ble picture  of  a  man  in  whose  soul  ambition,  fear, 
compassion,  and  incipient  remorse  are  fiercely  con- 
tending. A  painter  might  portray  Macbeth  at  this 
moment  and  his  picture  would  be  a  work  of  art; 
the  actor's  performance  is  likewise  the  outcome  of 
thought,  design,  adaptation  of  means  to  an  end 
first  conceived  in  the  imagination,  lacking  only  the 
element  of  permanence  in  some  form  that  can  be 
touched  and  reproduced  in  a  copy.  None  the 
less  is  it  art,  for  the  poet's  words  are  but  symbols 
and  indications;  they  are  tame  and  cold  until  the 
actor,  employing  vocal  sounds  and  bodily  organs 
as  material,  brings  the  thought  in  its  fulness  to  the 
eye  and  ear  of  the  beholder. 

The  arts  of  poetry,  painting,  and  sculpture,  there- 
fore, reproduce  phenomena  of  nature  and  human 
emotion  with  something  added,  viz.,  the  person- 
ality of  the  artist.  The  actor's  craft  is  an  art  by 
second  intention,  in  which  literary  expression,  al- 
ready reproduction,  passes  through  a  second  proc- 
ess, and  becomes  subject  to  another  addition.  Each 
process  is  art,  because  something  preexisting  in 
more  or  less  crude  and  unorganized  form  is  worked 
over  by  a  new  application  of  emotion  and  contriv- 
ance into  a  beautiful  embodiment  of  an  idea. 
107 


THE  EDUCATION   OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

Now  music  as  an  art  is  nearly  allied  to  the  drama 
in  that  the  work  of  the  original  creator  remains  in 
abeyance,  in  an  embryo  state  we  might  say,  await- 
ing the  second  birth  through  which  it  enters  into 
completeness  of  life.  This  subsequent  activity 
under  the  hands  of  the  performer  is  likewise  a  re- 
sult of  artistic  contrivance;  we  call  it  reproductive, 
but  like  the  actor's  portrayal  it  is  much  more  than 
that.  The  performer  is  not  concerned  simply  with 
transmitting  the  intention  of  the  composer — the 
composition  is  a  medium  by  which  he  confides  to 
his  hearers  an  emotion  that  has  become  his  own. 
It  is  well  enough  to  say  as  a  counsel  of  moderation 
that  the  player  or  singer  should  lay  aside  self- 
consciousness  and  love  of  personal  display  and 
devote  himself  to  the  interpretation  of  the  com- 
poser's thought,  but  in  fact,  since  he  is  himself 
endowed  with  a  musical  temperament,  with  the 
craving  for  self-expression  that  belongs  to  every 
normal  human  being,  he  cannot  efface  himself  and 
become  literally  and  completely  the  author's  tool. 
His  very  constitution  that  turns  him  to  the  study 
and  practice  of  music  implies  a  certain  likeness 
between  his  impulse  and  that  of  the  composer. 
The  bkck  symbols  upon  the  page  are  transmuted 
into  living  voices.  The  performer  forgets  that  they 
have  been  loaned  to  him  to  use  as  the  composer's 
representative,  he  conceives  them  as  his  own;  they 
are  his  own  for  the  moment,  and  if  he  be  truly  a 
master  he  persuades  the  hearer  into  the  same  belief. 

In  this  process  the  performer,  of  course,  ex- 
presses himself  not  as  he  is  in  the  constant  rela- 
io8 


THE  ART  OF  THE  PIANIST 

tions  of  daily  life,  but  as  he  is  in  the  mood  of  exal- 
tation excited  by  the  touch  of  the  music.  His  effort, 
like  that  of  the  actor,  is  the  deliberately  imaginative 
one  of  identifying  himself  with  the  work  in  hand. 
There  is  a  sort  of  double  consciousness  at  work. 
Without  the  loss  of  self-control  and  the  power  of 
instant  adaptation  of  means  to  ends,  he  sinks  him- 
self in  the  substance  of  the  composition  and  lives 
its  life,  which  for  the  time  being  is  the  whole  of 
life  for  him.  This  is  the  explanation  of  the  power 
of  great  performers  upon  the  stage  or  the  concert 
platform.  The  player  feels  no  difference  between 
the  role  or  the  music  and  his  own  personality. 
What  was  external  has  become  internal.  There  is 
a  large  margin  of  self-determination  allowed  him; 
the  author's  conception  is  given  to  him  tempo- 
rarily for  his  personal  use,  and  he  making  it  his 
own  remoulds  it  nearer  to  his  heart's  desire. 

No  other  art,  not  even  the  drama,  is  so  depend- 
ent upon  a  mediator  as  music.  Music  unper- 
formed is  a  dead  thing,  and  there  is  no  medium 
into  which  it  can  be  translated.  On  the  musical 
staff  the  notes  are  stationary;  they  imply  motion 
but  they  do  not  move.  The  rapidity  of  the  suc- 
cession of  sounds,  their  grouping  and  shading, 
are  determined  to  a  large  extent  by  the  player's 
thought.  The  composer,  to  be  sure,  gives  all  the 
general  directions  in  regard  to  tempo,  dynamics, 
etc.,  and  there  are  certain  principles  and  traditions 
which  are  generally  accepted  and  handed  down  by 
authority;  but  in  art,  laws  are  very  frequently  re- 
109 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

pealed,  and  precedents  have  no  power  of  self-en- 
forcement. In  spite  of  all  checks  and  balances 
the  composer  is  quite  at  the  performer's  mercy. 
Wagner  attributed  the  failure  of  the  "TannhUu- 
ser"  overture  at  its  first  performance  at  Leipzig 
to  the  lack  of  understanding  of  the  work  on  the 
part  of  the  conductor.  Franz  Liszt,  in  one  of  his 
Travel  Letters  of  a  Bachelor  of  Music,  complains 
bitterly  of  the  misunderstanding  on  the  part  of 
the  audience  from  which  composers  often  suffer  by 
reason  of  unintelligent  performance.  "The  poet, 
the  painter,  or  the  sculptor,"  he  says,  "brings  his 
work  to  completion  in  the  quiet  of  his  atelier,  and 
when  it  is  completed,  there  are  publishers  to  circu- 
late it,  or  museums  in  which  it  may  be  exhibited; 
no  mediation  is  necessary  between  the  art  work 
and  its  judges.  The  composer,  on  the  other  hand, 
must  have  recourse  to  interpreters  who  are  often 
incompetent  or  indifferent,  and  make  him  suffer 
by  reason  of  a  rendering  that  is  perhaps  true  to 
the  letter,  but  utterly  fails  to  reveal  the  thought  of 
the  work  and  the  genius  of  the  author." 

We  have  all  heard  pianists  who  were  easily  mas- 
ters of  every  mechanical  difficulty,  but  whose  play- 
ing was  cold  and  monotonous.  Nothing  is  more 
common  in  musical  criticism  than  the  complaint 
that  a  certain  pianist  has  failed  to  grasp  the  essen- 
tial mood  of  a  musical  work  or  the  spirit  of  a 
composer.  This  player,  it  may  be  said,  is  a  mas- 
ter of  technique,  but  he  should  not  try  to  play 
Chopin.     Another  is  at  home  in  the  late  romantic 

JIG 


THE  ART  OF  THE  PIANIST 

school,  but  he  has  no  proper  conception  of  Bach  or 
Beethoven,  Another  turns  a  bold  and  passionate 
fancy  of  Schumann  into  a  bit  of  sentimental  trifling. 
Another,  inferior  to  many  in  brilliancy,  illuminates 
everything  he  plays,  and  imparts  to  long  familiar 
compositions  an  unsuspected  eloquence.  As  the 
works  of  the  great  composers  pass  through  the 
hands  of  skilled  and  sympathetic  performers  they 
are  constantly  revealing  new  beauties.  A  pianist 
who  is  on  the  road  to  mastership,  and  even  after 
he  has  attained  that  exalted  degree,  keeps  certain 
great  works  constantly  before  him,  and  as  the  years 
go  on  his  playing  of  them  is  more  or  less  insen- 
sibly modified,  changing  with  his  mental  growth, 
with  his  experience  of  hfe  and  art.  Alexander 
McArthur  tells  us  that  a  pupil  once  protested  to 
Rubinstein  that  since  he  knew  the  "Waldstein" 
sonata  thoroughly  he  did  not  need  to  practise  it 
any  longer.  ''Don't  you?"  said  Rubinstein  sadly; 
"Well,  you  are  eighteen  and  I  am  sixty.  I  have 
been  half  a  century  practicing  that  sonata  and 
I  need  still  to  practice  it.  I  congratulate  you." 
No  thought  here  on  the  part  of  the  great  Russian 
that  a  musical  piece  is  a  finality  whose  repro- 
duction requires  only  technical  dexterity  and  obe- 
dience to  rules.  I  can  even  conceive  it  possible 
that  a  musical  work  may  take  a  deeper  place  in 
the  soul  of  a  student  than  it  had  in  the  mind  of  its 
author.  Handel  would  probably  be  much  aston- 
ished if  he  knew  the  uses  to  which  his  "Largo" 
(originally  a  song  to  a  plane  tree  in  his  opera 


THE  EDUCATION   OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

"Xerxes")  has  been  put.  One  who  has  felt  his 
whole  being  quiver  under  Mischa  Elman's  mar- 
velous performance  of  Schubert's  "Ave  Maria" 
may  easily  believe  that  the  composer's  intention 
was  more  than  fulfilled.  Anton  Seidl,  it  is  said, 
could  not  conduct  the  last  movement  of  Tchai- 
kovsky's "Symphonic  pathctique"  without  tears. 
Was  Seidl  simply  following  the  directions  of  the 
score,  and  was  the  result  only  a  matter  of  formal 
prescription  and  drill  ?  When  the  orchestra,  sub- 
missive to  his  will,  extorted  the  very  last  throb  of 
anguish  from  those  amazing  chords,  had  Seidl  no 
share  in  the  creative  act?  If  one  denies  that  he 
had,  perhaps  it  would  be  convincing  to  hear  the 
work  (as  was  once  my  misfortune)  performed  by 
an  orchestra  as  competent  as  Seidl's,  but  led  by  a 
conductor  inferior  to  him  not  only  in  musicianship, 
but  also  in  imagination  and  sensitiveness  of  heart. 
It  has  become  a  frequent  complaint  among  the 
musical  critics  of  the  press  that  pianists  as  a  rule 
refuse  to  present  new  works  to  the  public,  confin- 
ing their  programs  to  a  limited  range  of  standard 
compositions  of  masters  who  are  dead.  There 
is  good  ground  for  this  dissatisfaction  on  the  part 
of  those  who  have  the  progressive  interests  of  art 
in  view.  It  is  probable,  however,  that  the  gener- 
ality of  listeners  are  contented  with  this  condition 
and  there  are  certain  obvious  reasons  why  they  are 
so.  There  is  one  possible  explanation  that  is  not 
quite  so  obvious,  and  that  is  that  every  famous 
work  is  in  one  sense  a  novelty  when  performed  by  a 

112 


THE  ART  OF  THE  PIANIST 

great  pianist.  "Hamlet"  and  "Romeo  and  Juliet," 
supremely  great  as  they  are  as  literary  works, 
would  hardly  maintain  their  attracting  power  gen- 
eration after  generation  if  their  leading  roles  were 
always  acted  in  precisely  the  same  manner  in  every 
detail.  It  is  not  simply  "Hamlet "  or  " Romeo  and 
Juliet"  that  one  goes  to  see,  but  Forbes- Robert- 
son's Hamlet,  it  may  be,  or  Julia  Marlowe's  Juliet. 
And  so  when  a  veteran  concert  goer  pays  his  fee 
to  hear  a  famous  pianist  play  the  "  Sonata  Appas- 
sionata"  or  Schumann's  Concerto,  it  is  not  merely 
to  hear  an  old  work,  every  note  of  which  he  can 
anticipate,  but  a  work  renewed  under  the  in- 
dividual treatment  of  the  player.  From  Harold 
Bauer  he  will  receive  one  impression,  from  Pach- 
mann  another,  from  Careno  another,  from  Mrs. 
Zeisler  or  Hofmann  or  Godowski  a  "reading"  that 
is  different  still.  No  performance  of  a  classic  is 
ever  final.  There  is  always  something  to  be  said 
by  the  next  comer.  There  are  two  factors  in  the 
exhibition,  and  the  second  can  never  be  calculated. 
The  charm  of  musical  performance  is  partly  the 
charm  of  surprise.  Zola  defined  a  work  of  art 
as  a  bit  of  nature  seen  through  a  temperament. 
In  music,  as  in  a  drama,  there  is  a  second  inter- 
mediary stage,  and  in  playing,  singing,  or  conduct- 
ing we  have  a  work  of  art  seen  through  a  tempera- 
ment. The  performer  receives  the  work  from  the 
author,  and  when  he  gives  it  forth  again  it  has  un- 
dergone a  mysterious  change.  It  has  not  simply 
been  touched  with  new  color,  it  has  been  quickened 
with  a  new  spirit. 

"3 


THE  EDUCATION   OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

In  all  this  there  may  be  found,  I  think,  the  reply 
to  those  who  protest  against  the  "star  system." 
They  are  right,  of  course,  when  admiration  of  the 
star  means  indifference  to  the  composition,  or  if 
that  admiration  is  directed  solely  to  mere  tricks 
of  virtuosity.  But  they  are  wrong  if  they  over- 
look the  fact  that  the  star  is  or  may  be  also  an 
artist  who  creates  the  work  anew  at  every  represen- 
tation; that  in  music  the  work  and  the  perform- 
ance cannot  be  separated  in  consciousness;  that 
the  greater  the  performance  the  greater  the  work. 

The  lover  of  music  finds,  therefore,  that  he 
must  know  something  of  the  laws  of  performance 
as  well  as  the  laws  of  composition.  What  is  good 
playing  and  good  singing?  he  will  ask.  In  what 
is  one  executant  superior  to  another?  Are  there 
rules  by  which  judgment  can  be  guided?  An  in- 
telligent person  does  not  wish  to  applaud  a  de- 
fective performance  any  more  than  he  is  content  to 
enjoy  a  poor  composition.  He  wants  not  only  an 
opinion  of  his  own,  but  also  reasons  with  which  to 
confirm  it.  The  hopeless  differences  of  view  among 
his  critical  friends  over  the  merits  of  this  or  that 
performer  may  perhaps  give  him  pause  by  show- 
ing him  that  infallibility  is  not  attainable.  This  is 
true,  however,  in  all  art  matters;  it  does  not  fol- 
low that  there  are  no  principles  by  which  one  may 
be  guided  to  safe  and  sane  conclusions. 

The  music  lover  whom  I  have  in  mind  in  all 
these  discussions  is  called,  not  so  much  to  bestow 
awards  of  praise  or  censure,  as  to  observe,  appreci- 
ate, and  enjoy.  The  appraisal  of  values,  leading  to 
114 


THE  ART  OF  THE  PIANIST 

judgments,  will  follow  enlightenment,  but  inquiry 
must  come  first.  The  question,  therefore,  is  similar 
to  that  which  we  have  already  considered  in  our 
study  of  form  and  composition — what  does  musi- 
cal performance  offer  us?  What  are  we  to  look 
for  in  playing  or  singing?  And  also — following 
the  line  which  we  have  opened  in  the  beginning  of 
this  chapter  —  what  does  the  performer  add  out 
of  his  own  taste,  knowledge,  and  genius?  What 
does  he  do  that  is  not  commanded  him  by  the 
composer?  Then,  finally,  what  is  the  distinction 
between  good  and  evil  in  musical  reproduction? 

Taking  piano  playing  as  a  type  of  musical  per- 
formance in  general,  for  reasons  already  given,  we 
have  now  to  ask — in  what  respect  is  the  pianist 
an  artist?  What  is  his  part  in  determining  the 
character  of  a  composition  as  it  reaches  the  lis- 
tener's ear?  He  has  before  him  a  number  of 
leaves  of  paper  on  which  are  printed  certain  black 
characters,  most  of  them  notes  and  rests,  others 
consisting  of  indications  for  delivery.  A  very 
slight  consideration  shows  that  the  notes  and  other 
conventional  signs  which  compose  a  musical  score 
direct  the  player's  action  up  to  a  certain  point  and 
there  leave  him.  There  are  slight  variations  of 
tone  length,  regulations  of  speed  from  moment 
to  moment,  contrasts  and  blendings  of  shades,  re- 
fined use  of  the  pedals,  subtleties  of  phrasing — in  a 
word,  a  host  of  sensitive  adjustments  which  con- 
stitute expression  and  impart  life,  buoyancy,  and 
finesse.  These  cannot  be  indicated  with  precision 
115 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

by  the  system  of  notation  as  it  now  exists.  Fort- 
unate indeed  are  we  that  it  is  so,  for  were  it  other- 
wise the  player's  task  would  afford  but  little  in- 
spiration; two  pianists  of  equal  technical  skill 
would  produce  exactly  the  same  effect.  The  in- 
exhaustible charm  of  the  masterworks,  however, 
lies  largely  in  the  fact  that  no  such  mechanical 
reiteration  is  possible.  The  most  stolid  piano 
thumper  that  ever  tormented  a  critical  audience 
must  give  something  that  has  not  precisely  existed 
before.  His  performance,  as  Touchstone  said  of 
Audrey,  may  be  a  poor  thing  but  it  is  his  own. 
On  the  other  hand  if  the  pianist  is  a  man  of  genius 
we  have  the  splendid  spectacle  of  two  original 
forces  at  work.  Liszt's  playing  of  Beetho^'en, 
writes  Wagner,  'Svas  not  mere  reproduction,  but 
real  production."  There  is  fire  in  every  great 
work,  but  it  is  latent  and  must  be  rekindled  under 
the  breath  of  the  player's  will. 

It  may  be  necessary  to  remind  the  reader  at  this 
point  (and  I  ask  him  to  bear  it  in  mind  all  through 
this  discussion)  that  the  determination  of  the  play- 
er in  regard  to  the  "reading"  of  musical  works  is 
very  plainly,  one  may  say  narrowly,  restricted. 
His  freedom  is  not  license.  No  capricious  or 
spasmodic  renderings  are  to  be  tolerated.  Mau- 
passant's injunction  to  the  novelist — "give  us 
something  fine  according  to  your  temperament" — 
may  be  applied  to  the  pianist,  but  he  must  remem- 
ber that  it  will  not  be  fine  unless  it  conforms  to 
the  eternal  laws  of  art.  He  must  look  up  to  the 
ii6 


THE  ART   OF  THE  PIANIST 

composer  as  his  master.  His  work  must  be  chast- 
ened by  reverence.  He  must  not  wilfully  push 
his  own  personality  into  the  foreground,  and  by 
a  false  straining  after  originality,  by  mannerisms 
and  exaggerations,  do  violence  to  the  author's  in- 
tentions. He  has  many  guides  in  history,  scholar- 
ship, and  tradition  that  must  be  respected.  This 
side  of  the  vexed  question  of  the  pianist's  duty  will 
be  considered  later;  meanwhile  a  recognition  of  it 
must  be  held  in  reserve  while  we  go  on  to  consider 
the  privileges  of  the  player  as  an  original  thinker. 

In  a  letter  discussing  certain  points  in  piano 
playing  Edward  MacDowell  once  wrote,  "Black 
notes  on  white  paper  are  the  despair  of  composers." 
He  meant  by  this  that  our  system  of  notation  is 
incomplete,  so  that  while  the  composer  can  show 
what  notes  are  to  be  sounded,  he  is  only  partly 
able  to  indicate  in  what  manner  they  are  to  be 
sounded,  and  consequently  is  more  or  less  at  the 
mercy  of  the  performer.  I  have  tried  to  prove  that 
the  art  gains  more  than  it  loses  by  this  state  of 
things,  and  that  the  world  of  performers  and  mu- 
sic lovers  will  never  share  the  composer's  regret. 
Let  us  now  come  close  to  details,  and  taking  the 
words  of  MacDowell  as  a  text  inquire  just  what  are 
the  elements  of  performance  that  cannot  be  set 
down  in  black  notes  on  white  paper. 

Take  first  the  question  of  tempo.  The  com- 
poser puts  at  the  head  of  his  piece  a  direction,  con- 
sisting of  a  word  or  two,  which  shows  his  wish 
as  to  the  general  rate  of  speed,  such  as  Adagio, 
117 


THE  EDUCATION   OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

Andante,  Allegro.  No  one  supposes  that  these 
or  other  expressions  of  the  same  nature  signify 
an  exact  number  of  beats  to  the  minute.  Adagio 
means  slowly  or  leisurely,  but  the  Italian  word 
is  as  indefinite  as  the  English.  Andante  may 
indicate  one  pace  to  one  person,  another  to  an- 
other, and  to  the  same  person  it  will  vary  with 
the  composition.  Wagner  explains  that  there  are 
two  kinds  of  Allegro  movement,  each  requiring  a 
special  kind  of  treatment.  Sebastian  Bach  did  not 
put  directions  for  tempo  at  the  head  of  his  pieces; 
who  shall  determine  at  what  rate  of  speed  they 
should  be  played?  Metronome  marks  are  more 
exact,  but  they  are  far  from  being  an  infallible 
reliance.  At  the  most  they  indicate  the  general 
movement  of  a  composition,  not  the  alterations 
that  must  constantly  occur.  They  often  serve  as 
fetters  to  players  or  conductors  that  submit  to  them. 
Wagner  at  one  time  made  extensive  use  of  them 
in  his  dramas,  but  afterward  decided  that  it  was 
best  on  the  whole  to  leave  the  question  of  tempo 
to  the  taste  and  musicianship  of  the  conductor. 

The  amount  of  time  to  be  occupied  in  the  per- 
formance of  a  composition  as  a  whole  is,  however, 
the  easiest  part  of  the  problem.  Rarely  does  a 
piece  of  considerable  length  or  variety  of  style  re- 
quire an  exactly  uniform  rate  of  motion  from  be- 
ginning to  end.  The  beauty  of  an  interpretation 
consists  to  a  very  large  extent  in  the  varying  de- 
grees of  speed  in  the  different  divisions,  periods, 
and  phrases.     It  is  the  feature  to  which  the  com- 

ii8 


THE  ART   OF  THE  PIANIST 

poser  gives  the  least  thought  in  his  orders  to  the 
player,  and  consequently  it  is  in  this  particular  that 
pianists  are  most  at  variance  with  one  another. 
Nowhere  else  are  taste  and  judgment  more  in  de- 
mand than  here;  nowhere  else  are  perversions  and 
eccentricities  more  abundant.  Condemnations  by 
critics  of  the  "conceptions"  of  players  or  con- 
ductors will  be  found  in  the  great  majority  of  cases 
to  apply  to  tempo.  Wagner  goes  so  far  as  to  say 
that  "the  whole  duty  of  a  conductor  is  comprised 
in  his  ability  always  to  indicate  the  right  tempo. 
His  choice  of  tempi  will  show  whether  he  under- 
stands the  piece  or  not.  With  good  players  the 
true  tempo  induces  correct  phrasing  and  expres- 
sion." The  determination  of  the  "true  tempo," 
however,  is  not  so  easy.  "  I  have  often  been  aston- 
ished," says  Wagner  again,  "at  the  singularly 
slight  sense  for  tempo  and  execution  evinced  by 
leading  musicians."  In  spite  of  uncertainty  in 
the  practical  application  of  the  principle  of  speed 
variation,  in  the  privilege  itself  is  found  the  ele- 
ment which  gives  to  music  its  delightful  suggestion 
of  ease,  grace,  and  elasticity.  A  too  rigid  tempo 
gives  a  suggestion  of  friction,  of  resistance  some- 
where; a  flexible  tempo  is  motion  as  free,  confi- 
dent, and  joyous  as  the  flowing  of  winds  or  ocean 
tides.  Those  buoyant  fluctuations  of  movement 
that  we  hear  in  a  masterly  performance,  those  un- 
expected contrasts,  those  languishing  retards,  those 
fiery  accelerations,  those  delicate  balancings  of 
phrase  against  phrase,  those  affectionate  lingerings 
119 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

upon  lovely  modulations,  those  almost  impercepti- 
ble delays  as  if  to  give  a  beautiful  chord  a  little 
more  time  to  resound  along  the  corridors  of  the 
memory,  those  tender  caressing  familiarities,  those 
impetuous  defiances,  all  those  bold  liberties  which 
prove  the  tone  masses  submissive  to  the  player's 
will,  the  direct  manifestation  of  his  emotion — how 
eloquent,  how  illuminating  they  are! 

That  the  composer  should  say  to  the  player  that 
here  and  here,  and  thus  and  thus,  shall  he  make 
these  expressive  alterations  of  speed  is  impossible. 
Rarely  does  he  attempt  to  do  so.  Here  and  there 
he  will  write  ritardando  or  accelerando,  but  pre- 
cisely how  much  slower  or  faster,  or  exactly  at 
what  instant  these  changes  begin,  cannot  be  indi- 
cated. In  the  wide  spaces  of  the  piece,  howe\er, 
no  directions  are  given.  The  composer  implicitly 
says  to  the  player:  In  the  matter  of  tempo  I  put 
myself  in  your  hands,  your  musicianship  is  the  arbi- 
ter; if  my  music  sounds  dull  and  monotonous  you 
must  take  a  part  or  the  whole  of  the  blame,  if  other- 
wise a  goodly  share  of  the  honor  shall  be  yours. 

It  is  well  known  that  it  is  Chopin  who  has 
brought  the  beauty  that  lies  in  tempo  modification 
most  palpably  into  notice,  and  that  under  the 
title  tempo  rubato,  or  "  stolen  time,"  it  has  become, 
we  might  say,  self-conscious.  These  liberties, 
however,  are  not  as  lawless  as  the  term  would 
seem  to  imply,  for  the  alterations  of  tempo  that 
give  elasticity  to  a  performance  are  so  adjusted  and 
balanced  in  good  playing  that  the  sense  of  poise 
1 20 


THE  ART   OF  THE  PIANIST 

is  never  lost.  Like  all  other  elements  of  expres- 
sion they  must  be  regulated  by  conscious  artistic 
purpose.  The  very  nature  of  Chopin's  music  im- 
plies this  freedom  of  movement,  but  it  is  now 
granted,  although  in  less  degree,  in  the  works  of  the 
classic  masters.  Even  in  Bach's  fugues,  where  a 
machine-like  stiffness  once  passed  for  orthodoxy, 
a  more  natural  and  human  treatment  is  allowed. 
That  this  hberty  may  be  abused  we  all  know. 
There  are  agreements  among  musicians  that  have 
acquired  the  binding  force  of  laws,  and  must  not  be 
violated  at  the  player's  caprice.  A  prelude  by 
Bach  or  an  adagio  by  Beethoven  is  of  a  more  rigid 
mould  than  a  nocturne  by  Chopin  and  must  be 
rendered  with  more  sobriety  and  reserve.  The 
player  must  constantly  remind  himself  that  free- 
dom in  tempo  does  not  mean  unsteadiness,  and 
that  the  rate  of  speed  in  each  phrase  does  not  de- 
pend solely  upon  its  own  separate  interest,  but  still 
more  upon  its  relation  to  its  companion  phrases. 
We  must  have  in  music  a  sense  of  equilibrium,  of 
stability.  A  careless,  spasmodic  hurrying  and  re- 
tarding leads  only  to  flabbiness  and  inconsequence. 
The  second  of  the  constituents  of  expression 
that  rest  mainly  upon  the  player's  determination 
consists  in  differences  of  loudness  and  softness, 
also  known  as  nuance,  or  light  and  shade.  The 
composer  makes  a  rather  liberal  use  of  the  marks 
for  different  degrees  of  force,  such  as  f.,  p.,  sf.,  cres., 
dim.,  but  every  pianist  knows  that  it  is  for  himself 
to  decide  just  how  these  signs  shall  be  interpreted, 

121 


THE  EDUCATION   OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

and  also  that  his  performance  must  be  full  of  ac- 
cents and  modifications  of  tone  volume  which  the 
writer  does  not  attempt  to  indicate.  Composers 
differ  greatly  in  the  abundance  of  their  dynamic 
signs,  but  at  the  best  they  can  do  no  more  than 
suggest  the  relative  values  of  these  changes,  while 
the  absolute  values,  the  exact  amount  of  force,  de- 
pend upon  the  player's  physical  command  of  tone, 
the  construction  of  his  instrument,  and  still  more 
upon  his  musical  feeling  and  judgment.  Even 
the  extreme  marks  pp.  (softest)  and  ff.  (loudest) 
are  indefinite.  The  softest  possible  and  the  loudest 
possible  are  never  indulged  in  by  a  player  of  dis- 
cretion. Not  only  must  fortissimo  be  subjected  to 
the  final  law  of  tone  beauty  (in  spite  of  the  fact 
that  this  law  is  often  grossly  violated  by  famous 
pianists)  but  its  degrees  vary  greatly  according  to 
circumstances.  A  rapid  run  in  single  notes  cannot 
possibly  be  made  as  loud  as  a  detached  chord, 
although  the  composer  may  use  the  ff .  sign  for  both. 
On  the  other  hand,  the  softest  possible  tone  would 
be  inaudible  except  perhaps  to  the  performer  him- 
self. If  these  extreme  signs  are  so  inexact,  what 
shall  be  said  of  the  grades  between,  only  a  few 
of  which  are  designated  by  the  composer?  The 
printed  dynamic  signs  are  like  the  more  obvious 
elevations  and  depressions  in  a  distant  landscape — 
innumerable  are  the  undulations  between. 

Even  the  signs  which  the  composer  takes  pains 
to  insert  are  often  ignored  by  the  player,  some- 
times justly,   sometimes   unjustly.     I   have   heard 

122 


THE  ART   OF  THE  PIANIST 

iVnton  Rubinstein  make  a  diminuendo  in  a  Beetho- 
ven sonata  where  the  author  had  written  a  cres- 
cendo, and  vice  versa.  What  pianist  ever  ends 
Chopin's  delicate  F  sharp  Impromptu  with  a 
crash,  as  the  composer  seems  to  demand?  Mr. 
W.  S.  B.  Mathews  tells  that  he  once  prepared  a 
class  for  MacDowell's  "March  Wind,"  which  the 
composer  was  to  play  in  public,  that  he  carefully- 
called  attention  to  every  nuance  in  the  piece,  and 
that  to  his  consternation  MacDowell  played  it  fortis- 
simo from  beginning  to  end.  The  composer,  cer- 
tainly, has  a  larger  privilege  in  respect  to  his  own 
work  than  the  ordinary  performer,  but  this  instance 
shows  that  he  does  not  always  attach  the  same  seri- 
ousness to  the  expression  marks  that  he  does  to 
the  notes,  and  that  within  certain  limits  they  may 
be  considered  as  suggestive  and  provisional  rather 
than  arbitrary. 

After  all,  it  is  the  broader,  more  general  scheme 
of  light  and  shade  that  is  furnished  by  the  com- 
poser. The  finer  gradations,  those  subtle  and  im- 
measurable modifications  of  dynamic  value  which 
make  a  composition  a  palpitating,  coruscating 
thing  of  beauty,  are  wholly  under  the  player's  will. 
The  simplest  piece  is  inexhaustible  in  the  oppor- 
tunities it  affords  for  tone  variety.  Listen  to  a 
rapid,  clearly  articulated  scale,  filled  with  undu- 
lating crescendos  and  diminuendos  and  rhythmic 
accents.  Listen  to  a  surging  double  arpeggio,  its 
waves  of  tone  rising  and  falling  as  majestically  as 
the  billows  of  the  sea.  Or  a  series  of  pure  sonorous 
123 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

chords,  pressed  with  a  perfect  adaptation  of  the 
fingers  in  order  to  secure  sohdity  and  balance,  with 
a  melody  singing  brightly  upon  their  surface.  Or 
a  skein  of  delicate  filaments  of  sound,  with  a  single 
rich  tone  ringing  through  them  like  the  far-away 
call  of  a  horn.  These  things  are  among  the  lux- 
uries of  sensation,  and  unlike  many  luxuries  they 
bring  no  surfeit. 

The  study  of  these  effects  is  for  the  pianist  the 
task  of  a  lifetime.  The  desire  for  tone  beauty 
must  be  a  veritable  passion  if  he  is  ever  to  attain 
true  artistry.  Not  less  must  the  music  lover  ap- 
preciate its  worth,  ever  be  quick  to  detect  it,  and 
train  his  perceptions  to  respond  to  the  most  deli- 
cate gradations  in  beautiful  sound  both  in  nature 
and  in  art. 

"The  tone  sustained  with  equal  power,"  said 
Wagner,  "is  the  basis  of  all  expression."  This 
was  said  of  vocal  and  orchestral  music,  and  al- 
though an  evenly  sustained  tone  is  impossible  with 
the  piano  (since  by  reason  of  the  mechanism  the 
tone  diminishes  from  the  instant  it  is  struck)  yet  it 
has  always  hovered  before  the  minds  of  the  great 
players  as  an  ideal,  the  very  longing  for  it  affect- 
ing their  touch  and  treatment.  To  prolong  the 
short  and  relatively  dry  tone  of  the  piano  to  the 
greatest  possible  extent  has  always  been  the  aim  of 
manufacturers;  but  the  limit  is  soon  reached,  and 
players  are  often  forced  to  fall  back  upon  a  system 
of  disguises  and  pretences,  the  instrument  assuming 
a  virtue  that  it  does  not  possess.  In  gaining  the 
124 


THE  ART  OF  THE  PIANIST 

notion  of  sustained  tone  without  the  actuaHty  the 
listener's  fancy  works  as  well  as  that  of  the  player. 
He  is  more  credulous  than  any  speculator.  He 
wishes  to  be  deceived.  There  are  even  ways  by 
which  a  tone  may  apparently  be  made  to  swell  after 
being  struck  —  an  effect  that  is  very  beautiful, 
and  legitimate  because  beautiful. 

We  speak  of  a  pianist's  "singing  touch"  as  one 
of  his  most  admirable  merits.  There  is  no  more 
frequent  injunction  at  the  present  day  than  that  the 
tone  must  have  a  pure  singing  quality,  no  matter 
how  rapid,  intricate,  or  violent  the  passage  may  be. 
"Do  not  think  of  striking  your  notes,"  exclaimed 
Rubinstein,  "think  of  singing  them!"  This  in- 
junction forbids  the  short,  dry,  unsympathetic 
tone  one  often  hears,  as  well  as  the  harsh,  brassy, 
clanging  stroke  in  which  even  reputable  players 
often  indulge.  In  piano  playing  as  well  as  in 
orchestral  and  violin  playing  the  pure,  rich,  sus- 
tained tone  of  the  human  voice  at  its  best  must 
be  the  standard. 

This  problem  involves  also  that  of  quality  or 
timbre  in  piano  tone,  in  respect  to  which  there 
are  many  delusions  abroad.  It  would  be  easy  to 
show  that  the  player  has  but  very  slight  power — 
perhaps  none  at  all  —  of  altering  the  quality  of  tone 
by  his  way  of  pressing  the  keys,  that  force  and 
duration  are  the  only  elements  he  can  control  by 
his  touch  alone,  leaving  out  the  modification  that 
can  be  effected  by  the  pedals.  Nevertheless  there 
is  a  vast  difference  in  sheer  sensuous  tone  beauty 
125 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

in  the  playing  of  different  pianists.  This  is  not  the 
place  to  explain  all  the  causes  of  these  differences. 
They  consist  mainly,  perhaps  wholly,  in  extremely 
minute  shades  and  degrees  of  blending  and  con- 
trasting the  two  elements  of  duration  and  loudness. 
The  love  of  color  and  the  thought  of  color  will, 
however,  strongly  influence  the  touch  in  piano 
music.  Hans  von  Biilow  sometimes  suggested  to 
his  pupils  that  they  think  here  and  there  of  a  flute, 
a  'cello  or  a  horn.  No  one  knew  better  than  he 
that  a  pianist  cannot  in  the  least  imitate  the  timbre 
of  any  orchestral  instrument;  piano  tone  is  piano 
tone  and  never  anything  else.  But  the  thought  of 
an  instrument  so  luscious  in  quality  and  so  full  in 
sustaining  power  as  a  'cello  or  a  horn  would  in- 
sensibly affect  the  touch  and  the  disposal  of  dy- 
namic relations.  This  modern  emphasis  upon  tone 
color  in  piano  playing  is  one  manifestation  of  the 
universal  demand  for  sensuous  beauty  in  all  art 
which  is  so  marked  a  feature  of  our  time.  Color 
in  painting,  color  in  photography,  color  in  orches- 
tration, color  in  singing,  color  in  piano  playing  — 
these  are  the  response  to  the  quickened  sensitive- 
ness of  eye  and  ear  which  every  new  chromatic  in- 
vention in  picture  or  music  helps  in  turn  to  promote. 
Artists  even  speak  of  color  in  an  etching  or  en- 
graving, meaning  of  course  that  color  is  suggested. 
And  so  in  piano  playing  tone  color  is  suggested, 
the  mind  is  stimulated  so  that  it  impulsively  throws 
over  the  music  a  sort  of  prismatic  veil  which  is 
none  the  less  delightful  for  being  so  largely  an 
126 


THE  ART  OF  THE  PIANIST 

illusion.  Art  is  full  of  suggestion,  and  it  asks  the 
beholder  to  cooperate  with  the  producer.  The 
whitest  pigment  is  a  thousand  degrees  less  bright 
than  sunlight,  but  De  Hoogh  and  Turner  and 
Monet  paint  sunlight  to  the  perfect  satisfaction  of 
the  observer.  It  is  one  of  the  wonders  of  music 
that  an  instrument  essentially  so  cold  and  mono- 
chromatic as  the  piano  can  take  on  so  many  lovely 
tints  and  reenforce  melody  and  harmony  with 
sounds  so  delicious  to  the  sensual  ear.  Of  all  this 
the  composer,  with  his  black  notes  on  white  paper, 
gives  but  a  remote  intimation.  It  is  the  contribu- 
tion of  the  performer  in  his  capacity  of  artist. 

Another  means  of  obtaining  beautiful  changes  of 
tone  color,  to  which  the  listener  should  attend,  is 
in  the  use  of  the  pedals.  A  master  is  known  by  his 
pedalling  as  well  as  by  the  exploits  of  his  fingers. 
The  composer  or  editor  may,  of  course,  set  down 
pedal  marks,  but  they  are  at  the  best  inadequate, 
often  inexact,  and  an  experienced  player  gives 
little  or  no  heed  to  them.  Even  to  an  immature 
performer  they  are  an  awkward  kind  of  assistance 
and  the  sooner  he  learns  to  do  without  them  the 
better.  An  accomplished  pianist  simply  conceives 
a  certain  tone  effect  and  employs  the  pedal  for  the 
production  of  that  effect.  He  subjects  tone  ad- 
justment by  means  of  the  pedals  to  an  elaborate 
analysis,  until  at  last,  with  the  growth  of  experience, 
his  pedalling  becomes  a  second  nature,  and  his 
foot  responds  to  his  thought  as  automatically  as 
his  hand. 

127 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

The  question  now  arises,  What  is  it  that  the 
pedals  do?  There  is  probably  no  other  feature 
in  piano  playing  that  is  so  misunderstood,  not 
only  by  the  general  public  but  also  by  piano  stu- 
dents. The  pedal  that  is  managed  by  the  right 
foot  is  persistently  called  the  "loud  pedal,"  which 
designation  is  a  complete  misnomer.  It  is  easy 
to  see,  if  one  thinks  about  it,  that  the  damper 
pedal  cannot  possibly  make  the  sounds  louder. 
The  degree  of  loudness  in  the  case  of  a  sounding 
string  depends  upon  the  amplitude  of  the  vibra- 
tions, and  in  piano  music  the  amplitude  of  the  vi- 
brations depends  upon  the  amount  of  force  with 
which  the  hammer  comes  against  the  string.  When 
a  single  key  is  struck  and  the  pedal  is  not  pressed, 
a  damper  rises;  when  the  pedal  is  pressed,  all  the 
dampers  in  the  instrument  are  raised.  This  can- 
not affect  the  amplitude  of  the  vibrations.  Every 
player  knows  that  the  damper  pedal  enables  him  to 
continue  the  tone  after  his  finger  has  left  the  key, 
—  the  most  important  mechanical  invention  in  the 
history  of  the  art,  for  without  it  our  magnificent 
treasure  of  piano  music,  founded  by  Beethoven, 
could  never  have  come  into  existence. 

But  the  damper  pedal,  as  I  have  already  inti- 
mated, does  more  than  sustain  the  tones  that  are 
struck;  it  makes  them  more  rich  and  sympathetic  to 
the  ear  and  enables  the  player  to  obtain  variety  of 
tone  color.  It  is  easy  to  see  how  this  is  done.  Every 
musical  tone  is  compound  instead  of  simple.  A 
fundamental  tone,  indicated  by  a  note  upon  the  staff 
128 


THE  ART  OF  THE  PIANIST 

and  produced  by  the  vibration  of  the  whole  string, 
contains  also  other  tones  made  by  vibrations  of 
parts  of  the  string.  These  "  resultant  tones,"  "over- 
tones," "harmonics,"  or  "upper  partials,"  as  they 
are  .variously  called,  cannot  ordinarily  be  distin- 
guished from  the  fundamental  tone,  but  they  color 
it,  imparting  its  peculiar  quality  or  timbre.  In  a 
violin  or  clarinet  these  overtones  are  very  promi- 
nent; in  a  flute  or  organ  diapason  pipe  they  are 
much  less  so.  In  the  piano  they  are  to  be  reck- 
oned with.  Put  the  damper  pedal  down  and  all 
the  dampers  are  raised.  That  leaves  all  the  strings 
free  or  "open,"  and  some  that  are  not  struck  will 
vibrate  slightly  by  reason  of  the  impingement  upon 
them  of  the  secondary  air  waves  that  are  stirred  by 
the  string  that  is  struck  by  the  hammer.  The 
strings  whose  vibration  thus  produced  can  be  heard 
by  the  normal  ear  are  those  of  the  octave,  the 
twelfth,  and  the  second  octave  above  the  smitten 
string,  and  in  a  fine  grand  piano  perhaps  one  or 
two  more.  It  follows  that  the  sounds  that  come 
from  a  piano  are  richer  in  quality  when  the  dam- 
per pedal  is  used  than  when  it  is  idle. 

The  soft  pedal,  which  has  but  recently,  compar- 
atively speaking,  come  into  its  own  as  a  means  of 
tone  beauty,  does  not  merely  make  the  sounds 
softer,  it  alters  their  timbre.  In  a  grand  piano  it 
makes  the  hammer  strike  two  strings  instead  of 
three;  that  alone  would  produce  a  modification 
of  the  tone,  while  at  the  same  time  the  third  string, 
although  not  touched,  vibrates  sympathetically 
129 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

with  a  delicate,  veiled,  shimmering  quality  that  gives 
a  peculiar  mellow  and  sympathetic  effect  to  the 
combined  impression.  The  soft  pedal  takes  from 
the  instrument  its  characteristic  brilliancy,  afford- 
ing such  contrasts  that  the  player  will  often  em- 
ploy it  even  with  a  strong  touch,  carrying  the 
special  effect  produced  by  this  apparatus  into  broad 
sonorous  tone  masses. 

The  study  of  the  pianist  in  the  use  of  the  damper 
pedal,  in  spite  of  its  coloristic  possibilities,  lies 
chiefly  in  its  function  as  a  tone-sustaining  con- 
trivance. The  piano  is  unique  among  instruments 
in  its  ability  to  prolong  tones  when  the  player's 
fingers  are  busy  with  new  ones,  and  the  opportuni- 
ties thus  afforded  for  variety,  fulness,  and  grandeur 
of  tone  effect  are  numberless.  To  press  and  re- 
lease the  pedal  at  exactly  the  proper  instant,  to 
produce  continuity  of  sound  with  never  the  slightest 
confusion  in  the  harmonies,  to  blend,  distribute, 
and  contrast  all  the  varieties  of  tone  color  that  are 
latent  in  the  instrument  without  excess  or  barren- 
ness, and  to  do  all  this  without  losing  distinctness 
of  articulation  or  blurring  the  outline  of  the  rhyth- 
mic figure  —  here  is  a  field  of  endless  study  for 
the  player  and  delight  to  the  appreciative  listener. 
A  pianist  is  indeed  a  past  master  of  the  art  of  pedal- 
ling when  the  most  greedy  ear  is  satisfied  and  the 
most  sensitive  ear  can  detect  no  flaw. 

Last  to  be  considered  among  the  contributions 
made  by  the  player  is  phrasing.  This  term  signi- 
fies the  disclosure  to  the  ear  of  the  rhythmic  struct- 
130 


THE  ART   OF  THE  PIANIST 

ure  of  a  piece.  The  firm  metrical  basis  and  the 
intricate  rhythmic  figuration  must  be  as  distinctly 
in  the  consciousness  of  the  player  as  in  that  of  the 
composer.  All  the  rhythmic  laws  of  musical  art 
must  be  familiar  to  him  in  practice  if  not  in  theory, 
and  his  skill  of  hand  must  so  reenforce  his  sense  of 
structural  design  that  the  listener  will  never  be  for 
a  moment  in  doubt  concerning  the  essential  factors 
in  the  tonal  ebb  and  flow.  Under  the  player's 
hand  the  entanglements  of  the  interwoven  threads 
are  unravelled.  All  becomes  clear,  symmetrical, 
orderly.  He  imparts  to  the  music  a  suggestion  of 
naturalness,  of  spontaneity;  there  is  poise,  buoy- 
ancy, and  balance;  there  is  the  ecstasy  of  vibration, 
the  throb  of  life.  This  art  requires  incessant  study 
and  the  most  vigilant  care.  There  have  been  pian- 
ists, such  as  Hans  von  Billow,  who  were  especially 
distinguished  for  their  clear-cut  scholarly  phras- 
ing, other  elements  of  effect  being  often  sacri- 
ficed to  that.  Other  players,  who  have  delighted 
more  in  masses  of  sound  and  splendid  tonal  con- 
trasts, have  not  taken  such  extreme  pains  to  make 
every  thread  of  tissue  evident.  We  seem  to  have 
here  tv/o  classes  of  pianists  —  the  scholarly,  reflec- 
tive, and  analytical,  with  an  extremely  refined  sense 
of  form;  and  the  bold,  impetuous,  and  impression- 
istic, whose  minds  are  intent  upon  the  broader 
lights  and  shades  and  masses  rather  than  upon 
minute  dissection.  The  first  love  to  make  the  work 
transparent,  holding  to  the  light  every  detail  of 
organization.     The  second  will  often  obscure  detail 


THE  EDUCATION   OF  A   MUSIC  LOVER 

for  the  sake  of  breadth,  concentration,  and  color. 
Either  tendency  in  excess  leaves  something  to  be 
desired;  the  consummate  artist  of  the  keyboard  will 
grant  to  every  means  of  beauty  its  true  measure, 
not  sacrificing  the  mass  for  the  sake  of  the  parts 
nor  the  parts  for  the  sake  of  the  mass.  He  will 
finish  each  item  cleanly,  but  will  remember  that 
motives  and  phrases,  like  the  lines  and  colors  of  a 
painting,  find  their  value  not  in  isolation  and  de- 
tachment, but  in  their  relation  to  one  another  and 
to  the  whole. 

There  are  four  means  by  which  the  structural 
grouping  of  tones  is  made  apparent,  viz.  accents, 
alternations  of  longer  and  shorter  tones,  breaks  in 
the  succession  of  sounds  (including  phrasing  by  the 
damper  pedal),  and  crescendo  and  diminuendo. 
In  the  application  of  these  rhythmic  devices  the 
player  is  certainly  more  restricted  than  in  the  mod- 
ification of  tempo  or  in  shading.  It  is  a  matter 
of  knowledge  with  him,  of  musical  scholarship, 
rather  than  of  personal  preference.  That  is  to  say, 
tempo  and  shading  are  very  greatly  subject  to  the 
player's  feeling  and  imagination,  and  may  measur- 
ably differ  in  the  performance  of  the  same  compo- 
sition by  the  same  player  at  different  times,  or  under 
the  hands  of  players  who  are  unlike  one  another  in 
temperament.  Phrasing,  however,  is  either  right 
or  wrong;  within  the  successions  of  melodies  and 
harmonies  there  dwells  the  essential  rhythmic  de- 
sign dictated  by  the  inherent  laws  of  musical  con- 
struction. There  is  the  metrical  foundation  es- 
132 


THE  ART  OF  THE  PIANIST 

tablished  by  the  beat  and  the  measure  grouping, 
while  the  rhythmic  figuration  springs  from  it  in 
tropical  luxuriance.  Both  alike  must  be  rescued 
from  confusion  and  when  offered  to  the  ear  brought 
under  the  control  of  artistic  design.  In  effecting 
this  the  player  must  chiefly  rely  upon  his  scholar- 
ship and  his  musical  instinct,  for  the  means  which 
the  composer  possesses  for  indicating  the  proper 
phrasing  are  very  incomplete.  This  fact  is  made 
evident  by  the  numerous  and  bewildering  books 
on  rhythm  and  the  phrased  editions  of  the  classic 
composers  —  the  product  of  an  outlay  of  labor  and 
thought  of  which  the  layman  has  little  conception. 
An  extensive  knowledge  of  rhythmic  laws  and  of  the 
peculiar  rhythmic  styles  of  the  great  piano  com- 
posers must  be  a  part  of  the  mental  equipment  of 
the  pianist.  In  the  digital  analysis  of  the  intricate 
minutiae  of  structure  the  performer  must  give  a 
multitude  of  accents  not  indicated  in  the  general 
metrical  scheme  —  he  must  often  vary  the  time 
values  of  individual  notes,  must  make  breaks  in 
the  tone  current  which  are  not  marked  in  the  score, 
must  use  crescendo  and  diminuendo  for  the  stirring 
of  the  rhythmic  waves  to  their  progressive  rise  and 
fall.  The  curving  lines,  or  slurs,  which  abound 
in  musical  scores  are  sometimes  employed  as 
phrasing  signs  by  composers,  but  so  irregularly  and 
with  such  disregard  of  system  that  the  player  who 
should  direct  his  phrasing  by  them  would  produce 
the  most  unhappy  results.  Even  the  elucidations 
of  scholarly  editors  do  not  always  agree.     It  is  only 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

by  a  highly  developed  rhythmic  sense,  a  firm  grasp 
of  musical  structure,  years  of  study  and  experience, 
a  technique  so  perfect  that  in  the  most  rapid  and 
difl&cult  passages  every  shade  of  tone  and  every 
variety  of  touch  are  under  complete  control,  that  a 
performer  is  able  to  solve  all  the  mysteries  of  the 
phrasing  art  and  become  infallibly  true  to  those 
laws  of  form  that  give  to  musical  w^orks  their  com- 
plex order,  their  inner  logic,  their  plastic  grace,  and 
their  architectonic  strength. 

The  player  w^ho  makes  an  intelligent  study  of 
rhythm  will  not  confine  his  analysis  to  the  smaller 
groupings  of  period  and  section  and  phrase,  but 
will  also  attend  to  the  larger  divisions  in  which 
these  are  contained;  he  will  hold  in  his  mind  the 
entire  framework  of  the  piece  and  will  give  to  his 
hearers  an  impression  of  solidity  and  mutual  sup- 
port among  the  parts.  In  this,  the  highest  grade 
of  rhythmic  interpretation,  there  will  be  heard 
marked  dissimilarities  among  players.  One  will 
unravel  the  texture  with  the  utmost  care,  separat- 
ing the  phrases  and  rounding  off  the  outlines  of 
all  the  details  with  an  almost  finical  nicety,  at  the 
same  time  so  regardless  of  the  larger  unity  that  the 
work  will  appear  like  a  mosaic  of  brilliant  spots 
with  no  suggestion  of  continuous  development  and 
comprehensive  organization.  I  have  heard  the 
first  movement  of  Beethoven's  "Sonata  Appassio- 
nata"  so  treated  —  each  phrase  highly  polished  but 
no  grasp  of  the  movement  in  its  vast  reach  and 
cumulative  force.  It  was  an  affected,  self-conscious 
134 


THE   ART   OF  THE  PIANIST 

performance;  the  fierce  onrush,  which  should  be 
like  that  of  a  river  at  the  spring  flood,  checked  and 
diverted  by  an  over-desire  for  finish.  It  was 
"faultily  faultless,"  like  Tennyson's  Maud.  A 
master  player  will  grasp  the  work  in  its  entirety; 
while  giving  the  characteristic  beauty  to  each 
feature,  he  will  have  the  complete  form  distinctly 
present  in  his  mind,  so  that  every  passage  will  be 
a  preparation  for  that  which  is  to  follow  and  a  con- 
sequence of  that  which  has  gone  before.  He  will 
also  apprehend  the  essential  emotional  character 
of  the  composition  —  passionate,  merry,  languish- 
ing, solemn,  pathetic,  or  whatever  it  may  be  —  and 
every  phrase  will  receive  its  proper  treatment  as  a 
contributing  factor  in  the  larger  purpose. 

Perfection  of  phrasing  might  be  said  to  be  the 
supreme  sign  of  mastership,  since  it  is  closely  united 
with  control  of  tempo  and  shading.  Furthermore, 
it  implies  large  executive  resources,  for  if  a  pian- 
ist plays  up  to  the  limit  of  his  technique  an  ar- 
tistic command  of  phrasing,  nuance,  and  tempo 
will  surely  be  wanting.  There  will  be  a  suggestion 
of  effort,  perhaps  of  strain,  and  the  sign  of  this, 
even  where  no  false  notes  are  struck,  will  be  a 
lack  of  clearness  and  freedom  in  shading  and 
phrasing.  But  when  the  performer  is  able,  at 
any  chosen  tempo  and  in  spite  of  every  technical 
difficulty,  to  present  the  work  in  its  true  emotional 
atmosphere,  luminous  in  every  detail,  perfectly  ar- 
ticulated and  balanced,  buoyant  with  conscious  re- 
serve of  power,  rejoicing  in  freedom  while  obedient 
135 


THE  EDUCATION   OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

to  law,  then  the  grateful  auditor  will  be  ready  to 
confer  the  degree  of  artist  summa  cum  laude. 

In  what  has  been  said  thus  far  it  may  seem  that 
too  much  stress  has  been  laid  upon  the  player's 
liberty.  But  I  have  thought  that  a  discussion  of 
the  art  of  the  pianist  from  this  point  of  view  would 
be  of  most  value  to  the  music  lover  who  desires  to 
know  something  of  the  higher  criticism  in  piano 
music.  There  is,  of  course,  another  side  to  the 
story.  The  pianist's  work  is  based  on  laws  and 
principles  to  which  he  must  submit,  however  great 
his  genius.  It  is  only  after  long  training  and  ex- 
perience that  he  can  be  allowed  to  give  loose  rein 
to  his  own  natural  impulses.  Looming  above  him, 
warning  and  guiding  him,  is  the  authority  of  ar- 
tistic laws  which  are  as  imperative  as  natural  for- 
ces. These  decrees  are  final  because  they  are  the 
expression  of  something  inherent  in  the  very  con- 
stitution of  the  human  mind.  Next  below  these 
ultimate  commands  are  methods,  styles,  customs 
which  have  acquired  the  sanction  that  is  drawn  from 
the  consensus  of  the  most  intelligent  practice.  As 
the  generations  come  and  go  experiments  of  every 
conceivable  kind  are  made;  certain  procedures,  not 
being  justified  by  sober  reflection,  are  abandoned, 
while  others  are  maintained  because  in  the  long 
run  they  agree  with  the  matured  sense  of  artistic 
propriety.  Hence  arise  what  are  called  "tradi- 
tions." These  traditions,  however,  are  not  ab- 
solutely rigid.  There  is  no  finality  in  art,  because 
where  there  is  mental  activity  and  an  insatiable 
136 


THE  ART  OF  THE  PIANIST 

search  for  truth  even  the  works  of  the  older  mas- 
ters will  be  seen  through  an  atmosphere  created 
by  the  temper  and  experience  of  the  age,  and  a 
changed  point  of  view  will  modify  their  aspect. 
The  master  pianist  may  say,  Why  should  not  I 
also  have  a  share  in  the  making  of  tradition? 
Mendelssohn  and  other  musicians  of  his  time  no 
doubt  believed  that  the  tradition  of  the  perform- 
ance of  Beethoven's  symphonies  was  once  for  all 
established,  but  then  came  Wagner,  Liszt,  Biilow, 
Richter  and  their  disciples,  and  the  tradition  under- 
went a  change.  In  piano  playing  there  are  ca- 
pacities for  varying  beauty  in  the  improved  instru- 
ment that  were  undreamed  of  by  Mozart  and 
Beethoven;  the  performer,  therefore,  may  add 
color  to  their  works  and  is  not  required  to  pre- 
serve the  dry  light  of  the  old  time.  The  master 
pianist  must  hold  the  balance  between  two  incli- 
nations —  one  to  deny  his  own  instinct  toward  self- 
expression  and  efface  himself  in  presence  of  the 
composer,  the  other  to  ignore  the  composer's  au- 
thority and  give  free  rein  to  his  own  egotism. 

But  what  is  the  proper  balance?  There  indeed 
is  the  difficulty.  All  admit  that  the  player  must  be 
true  to  the  spirit  and  meaning  of  the  composer, 
but  since  the  composer's  intention  must  be  mainly 
inferred  from  the  composition  itself  there  comes 
that  latitude  of  interpretation,  that  exercise  of 
the  performer's  judgment,  taste,  and  musicianship 
which  gives  to  piano  recitals  their  perpetual  in- 
terest.    The  pianist,  like  the  actor,  is  a  man  of 


THE  EDUCATION   OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

his  time.  Contemporary  tendencies  in  art  will 
show  themselves  in  piano  playing  as  in  other  fields 
of  expression.  Certain  general  principles,  how- 
ever, stand  sure.  Mozart  must  not  be  played  like 
Tchaikovsky,  nor  a  Beethoven  Adagio  like  a  Cho- 
pin Nocturne.  It  is  not  a  question  of  period, 
however,  as  some  seem  to  assert,  but  of  style.  A 
composer  of  the  present  who  should  write  like  Mo- 
zart must  be  played  like  Mozart,  and  not  with  the 
contrasts  of  speed  and  dynamics  that  are  proper 
to  a  Liszt  Rhapsodic.  But  there  is  a  more  or  less 
necessary  connection  between  the  style  of  a  com- 
poser's work  and  his  period;  hence  the  player 
must  be  familiar  with  the  history  of  his  art  in  order 
that  he  may  be  conscious  of  the  background  of 
every  typical  work,  and  enter  sympathetically  into 
the  special  character  which  it  may  possess  as  the 
reflection  of  the  ideals  and  methods  of  its  age. 

There  abides  the  old  antithesis  between  "sub- 
jective" and  "objective"  playing.  The  subjective 
player  makes  the  work  his  own,  he  discharges 
through  it  his  own  temperament,  and  he  never 
plays  it  twice  in  exactly  the  same  way.  The  objec- 
tive player  treats  the  work  as  external  to  himself, 
he  aims  to  perform  it,  to  the  best  of  his  knowledge 
and  belief,  precisely  as  the  composer  would  do;  he 
fixes  in  his  memory  every  dynamic  sign,  he  scru- 
pulously follows  the  tradition,  and  he  endeavors  to 
play  the  work  in  the  same  manner  at  every  repe- 
tition down  to  the  smallest  details.  Rubinstein  said 
to  a  pupil,  "Play  as  you  feel.  Is  the  day  rainy? 
138 


THE  ART  OF  THE  PIANIST 

Play  it  in  one  way.  Is  it  sunny?  Play  it  in  an- 
other way."  A  player  of  the  school  of  Mendelssohn 
would  probably  have  said:  This  way,  or  this,  is 
correct;  so  must  it  always  be  done. 

The  discussion  is  of  little  moment,  for  strictly 
speaking  there  is  no  such  thing  as  purely  subjective 
or  purely  objective  performance.  The  happy  lim- 
itations of  our  notation  system  forbid  the  latter, 
and  as  for  subjective  playing  there  is  only  one  sort 
that  is  completely  such,  and  that  is  improvising. 
In  former  days  extemporaneous  playing,  in  which 
the  pianist  was  composer  and  executant  at  the 
same  instant,  was  the  summum  bonum,  the  ulti- 
mate test  of  mastership.  But  in  these  latter  times 
the  pianist  gains  his  crown  through  his  ability  as 
an  interpreter  of  the  works  of  other  men.  Un- 
doubtedly something  has  been  lost  by  the  change. 
If  we  are  to  trust  contemporary  report,  the  unpre- 
meditated performances  of  Beethoven  and  Liszt 
exhibited  a  splendor,  a  fire,  and  an  eloquence  of 
appeal  that  are  not  paralleled  in  the  deliberate 
reproductions  of  the  modern  method.  The  gain, 
however,  has  more  than  balanced  the  loss.  A 
Beethoven  or  a  Liszt  appears  only  once  in  a  gen- 
eration, while  Paderewski  and  Hofmann  and  the 
noble  army  of  their  compeers  keep  ever  before  us 
the  glorious  works  of  the  great  tone  poets,  endowed 
by  the  love  and  the  imagination  of  the  interpreter 
with  the  magical,  ever-renewed  charm  of  re-crea- 
tion. The  master  player  gives  to  his  performance 
a  glow  and  an  energy  as  of  an  improvisation,  but 
139 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

he  is  saved  from  exaggeration  and  egotistic  strain- 
ing after  originality  by  a  humble  deference  to  the 
composer  and  a  reverence  for  the  established  laws 
of  his  art.  At  the  keyboard,  under  the  excitement 
of  the  moment  and  the  nervous  stimulation  that 
comes  from  the  enthusiasm  of  his  audience,  he 
will  often  put  forth  powers  unsuspected  even  by 
himself,  and  will  produce  effects  apparently  un- 
premeditated. But,  like  the  wise  actor,  he  will  not 
trust  wholly  to  ''the  inspiration  of  the  moment," 
and  it  will  probably  appear  that  these  seeming 
novelties  of  treatment,  these  outbreaks  of  excep- 
tional ardency,  are  simply  the  intensifying  of  effects 
planned  in  the  study  chamber  and  kindled  by  the 
electric  contact  of  the  milieu  and  the  moment  into 
a  splendor  which  the  calm  of  the  practice  hours 
could  not  anticipate.  Under  such  excitements 
flashed  those  impassioned  displays  of  which  gray- 
haired  contemporaries  of  Liszt  and  Rubinstein 
speak  with  bated  breath  and  uplifted  eyes. 

It  appears  from  this  examination  of  the  pianist's 
art  that  the  music  lover  has  in  piano  music  a  very 
large  field  for  study  and  a  provision  for  ever  in- 
creasing delight.  He  will  first  look  for  finished  tech- 
nique —  for  rapidity,  force,  and  clarity  in  brilliant 
work,  for  singing  tone  and  perfect  equipoise  of  mel- 
ody and  harmony  under  all  circumstances.  The 
shading  must  be  full  of  variety,  balanced  and  dis- 
tributed like  the  lights  and  darks  in  a  fine  painting; 
the  crescendos  and  diminuendos  must  rise  and  fall 
with  majestic  ease;  there  must  be  fulness  without 
140 


THE  ART   OF  THE  PIANIST 

confusion,  force  without  violence,  delicacy  without 
weakness;  a  perfect  adaptation  of  the  touch,  from 
the  crispest  staccato  to  the  sustained  clinging  legato, 
to  the  essential  character  of  the  passage;  above  all 
and  everywhere  a  faultless  drawing  of  the  melodic 
and  rhythmic  line,  the  contour  and  body  of  every 
figure  clearly  revealed  and  placed  firmly  upon  the 
metrical  foundation.  With  all  this  assumed  as  an 
evidence  of  the  technical  competence  of  the  player, 
the  question  of  the  truth  of  his  interpretation,  never 
perhaps  to  be  finally  settled  (since  the  decision  is 
so  much  affected  by  personal  preferences),  will  be 
submitted  to  that  larger  knowledge  of  the  laws  of  art 
and  of  the  diverse  ideals  of  the  masters  which  the 
seeker  after  critical  wisdom  will  constantly  labor 
to  acquire. 


141 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  ART  OF  SONG:  MUSIC  AND  POETRY 

The  conscientious  lover  of  music,  who  wants  a 
prop  for  his  judgments  more  stable  than  caprice, 
encounters  certain  peculiar  difficulties  when  the 
art  of  song  is  in  question.  And  yet  it  would  seem 
at  first  thought  that  all  men  might  instinctively 
feel  and  estimate  alike.  Singing  comes  nearer  to 
being  universal  than  any  other  formal  expression  of 
emotion.  Every  impulse  that  draws  men  together 
in  the  fraternity  of  a  common  need  has  always 
chosen  melody  as  the  most  natural,  the  most  appro- 
priate, and  the  most  efficient  means  of  expressing 
the  consciousness  of  spiritual  solidarity.  No  other 
agent  is  so  powerful  in  stimulating  the  mental  ex- 
citement that  is  the  forerunner  of  action.  Politi- 
cal and  religious  leaders  know  that  song  is  more 
effective  for  their  ends  than  rhetoric.  Luther's 
battle  was  half  won  when  the  people  began  to  sing 
the  hymns  of  the  Reformation.  Not  less  endeared 
is  song  as  an  outlet  for  the  more  ideal  cravings  of 
the  individual  heart.  Love  seems  always  to  imply 
melody,  or  at  least  the  tuneful  impulse.  So  nat- 
ural is  the  connection  here  that  Darwin  was  led  to 
142 


MUSIC  AND  POETRY 

believe  that  the  very  origin  of  music  is  to  be  found 
in  the  love  calls  of  the  half-human  progenitors 
of  mankind.  Among  the  ancient  cultivated  nations 
and  in  a  multitude  of  instances  among  the  simpler 
races  and  lower  social  grades  to-day,  poetry  and 
music  are  inseparable.  Song  is  preeminently  the 
social  art.  It  is  the  only  means  of  artistic  expres- 
sion that  can  be  employed  by  a  large  number  of 
people  at  the  same  instant  and  in  the  same  manner. 
If  my  neighbor  and  I  can  sing  in  all  sincerity  the 
same  songs,  then  for  the  time  being  we  have  es- 
tablished a  close  tie  between  one  another;  we  see 
into  each  other's  hearts  and  find  there  something 
that  makes  us  brothers. 

Out  of  this  universal  impulse  toward  vocal  ex- 
pression, which  in  ordinary  conditions  remains 
crude  and  rudimentary,  a  fine  art  has  emerged,  and 
men  of  genius  have  put  into  consummate  musical 
utterance  those  emotional  impulses  which  had 
already  been  crystallized  into  poetry.  Their  mel- 
odies are  then  taken  from  the  cold  page  and  trans- 
muted into  impassioned  sound  by  men  and  v/omen 
who  are  trained  in  accordance  with  refined  princi- 
ples of  reproductive  art.  The  sway  over  our  spirits 
exercised  by  this  twofold  creative  act  is  due  to  our 
consciousness  that  these  singers  are  our  interpreters 
as  well  as  interpreters  of  the  composers.  Their  per- 
formances are  only  the  farther  stage  of  a  process 
which  begins  everywhere  in  the  world  when  a  tender 
longing  desires  the  relief  of  utterance,  for  in  the 
most  elaborate  development  of  vocal  art  there  is 
143 


THE  EDUCATION   OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

a  ground  tone  of  simple  feeling  that  is  under- 
stood by  every  heart  that  is  in  tune  with  nature. 
From  the  crooning  of  a  monotonous  lullaby  by 
some  lowly  mother  in  cabin  or  wigwam  to  the  splen- 
did display  of  a  Sembrich  or  a  Caruso  before  ap- 
plauding thousands  there  is  simply  the  special  de- 
velopment of  a  general  faculty.  For  this  reason, 
perhaps,  the  world  at  large  feels  a  more  direct  in- 
terest in  acting  and  singing  than  in  any  other  form 
of  artistic  exercise.  The  actor  and  singer  are  car- 
rying on  activities  which  have  been  more  or  less 
operative  in  our  own  experience.  We  have  all  used 
speech  and  gesture  and  have  at  some  time  sung, 
whereas  comparatively  few  have  played  an  instru- 
ment, carved,  painted,  or  made  verses.  The  differ- 
ence is  that  the  professional  performance  is  deliber- 
ate and  cultivated  instead  of  spontaneous;  out  of 
a  universal  unartistic  custom  there  has  been  evolved 
a  very  exquisite  form  of  specialized  art. 

It  may  be  that  this  very  nearness  to  nature  may 
account  for  the  fact  that  the  vast  majority  of  those 
who  frequent  theatres  and  concert  halls  are  quite 
incapable  of  an  accurate  critical  judgment  upon  the 
performances  of  actors  and  vocalists.  "  Of  all  the 
branches  of  musical  performance,"  says  Mr.  W.  J. 
Henderson,  "singing  is  that  about  which  the  great 
majority  of  music  lovers  know  the  least.  The 
general  public  makes  very  little  discrimination  be- 
tween the  work  of  a  de  Reszke  or  a  Melba  and 
that  of  a  fourth  rate  Sunday  night  concert  singer 
who  has  paid  the  manager  to  give  her  an  appear- 
144 


MUSIC  AND   POETRY 

ance."  Elsewhere  Mr.  Henderson  explains  this  by 
saying:  "The  public  is  not  an  expert,  never  was 
and  never  will  be.  It  is  idle,  careless,  and  indif- 
ferent to  the  critical  questions  of  art."  This  diag- 
nosis leaves  untouched  the  deeper  question  why  the 
pubhc  is  so  short-sighted,  unconscious  of  the  higher 
truths  in  art.  The  public  is  indeed  ignorant,  care- 
less perhaps,  but  I  am  sure  not  altogether  indif- 
ferent. It  applauds  what  it  believes  to  be  good. 
The  gallery  god  gives  boisterous  approbation  to  the 
most  atrocious  ranting,  not  from  wanton  delight  in 
making  a  noise,  but  because  from  his  point  of  view 
the  performance  is  right  and  he  has  a  social  duty 
to  perform  in  encouraging  merit. 

The  ridiculously  false  judgments  to  which  Mr. 
Henderson  alludes  are  of  course  due  to  ignorance, 
but  there  are  many  ignorances,  and  the  one  blind- 
ness that  explains  many  other  errors,  it  seems  to 
me,  is  the  failure  of  the  average  man  to  grasp  the 
antithesis  between  art  and  nature.  That  art  is  art 
precisely  because  it  is  not  nature,  is  a  statement 
that  bewilders  him.  To  him  the  one  thing  needful 
in  art  is  imitation.  Before  a  landscape  painting 
he  asks.  Is  it  natural?  In  a  portrait  he  sees  no 
merit  except  that  of  superficial  likeness.  Poetry 
says  nothing  to  him  because  it  is  a  non-natural 
speech  which  he  does  not  understand,  or  it  interests 
him  in  proportion  as  it  comes  near  to  prose.  In 
the  drama  his  warmest  approval  is  given  to  crude 
reproduction  of  actual  everyday  life.  And  so  in 
respect  to  singing,  it  is  to  the  material,  viz.,  the 
145 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

voice,  in  its  more  obvious  and  sensational  qualities, 
that  the  average  man  confines  his  attention,  to- 
gether with  the  accessory  means  of  personal  ap- 
peal, such  as  the  singer's  physical  charm,  presence, 
or  magnetism.  He  is  unobservant  of  those  acquired 
and  specialized  elements  that  give  so  much  pleasure 
to  the  connoisseur. 

Another  reason  for  the  inability  of  the  majority 
to  appreciate  fine  singing  is  to  be  found  in  the  fact 
that  song  is  a  composite  art.  The  voice  is  used 
for  a  twofold  purpose,  and  each  of  its  functions  is 
to  some  extent  unfavorable  to  the  full  exercise  of 
the  other.  That  is  to  say,  the  voice  is  a  musical 
instrument  capable  of  giving  pleasure  by  inarticu- 
late sound,  like  a  violin,  and  it  is  also  a  medium  for 
the  conveyance  of  thought  by  means  of  words. 
Sustained  musical  phrases,  with  changes  of  pitch 
and  shading,  interfere  with  distinct  enunciation; 
and  on  the  other  hand,  the  effort  at  distinct  enun- 
ciation is  unfavorable  to  the  maintenance  of  pure 
tone  quality  and  sustained  delivery.  Song,  there- 
fore, is  to  a  certain  degree  a  compromise.  Musi- 
cal sound,  whose  ofiice  is  to  enchant  the  ear  by 
its  sensuous  loveliness,  is  bound  to  the  service  of 
words  imparting  definite  concepts.  The  listener's 
attention  is  directed  to  both — the  abstract  tone  for 
the  joy  of  it,  and  the  pronunciation  of  the  text  for 
the  understanding  of  it.  Where  two  factors,  un- 
like in  their  psychologic  effect,  are  striving  to  gain 
possession  of  the  listener's  attention,  he  often  finds 
that  the  impression  of  one  or  both  is  imperfect. 
146 


MUSIC  AND   POETRY 

Even  when  the  singer  employs  a  foreign  language, 
the  dilemma  is  not  evaded,  for  the  listener  is  per- 
fectly aware  that  the  singer  is  not  articulating 
meaningless  syllables,  that  the  style  of  the  music 
and  the  delivery  are  strongly  conditioned  by  the 
text,  and  if  he  cares  for  anything  besides  the 
mere  tickling  of  his  ear  he  tries  to  get  some  inti- 
mation of  what  the  performer  is  singing  about. 
To  some  extent,  in  any  case,  his  attention  is  di- 
vided, turned  now  in  one  direction  now  in  another, 
so  that  the  point  in  which  he  is  least  instructed, 
viz.,  vocal  technique,  escapes  him,  and  song  as  a 
fine  art  becomes  in  his  consciousness  song  as  crude 
auditory  sensation  or  verbal  declamation. 

So  much  for  the  practical  difficulties  in  the  im- 
mediate art  of  hearing.  They  are  made  more  un- 
certain by  being  involved  in  a  long  debated  theo- 
retical question  which  concerns  the  whole  problem 
of  the  relation  of  tone  to  text  in  vocal  music. 
Which  is  the  more  important  of  the  two?  If  one 
must  yield  to  the  other,  which  shall  it  be?  Does 
the  poetry  exist  for  the  sake  of  the  music,  or  the 
music  for  the  poetry?  How  does  a  decision  for 
either  claimant  affect  the  ideal  and  method  of  the 
art  of  singing?  According  to  his  verdict  will  be 
the  music  lover's  judgment  and  appreciation  of  the 
vocal  art.  It  is  worth  while  to  state  the  problem 
with  considerable  fulness,  for  it  will  shed  light  not 
only  upon  singing,  but  also  upon  the  whole  ques- 
tion of  vocal  music  in  song,  oratorio,  church  music, 
and  opera. 

147 


THE  EDUCATION   OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

Among  those  who  give  serious  attention  to  vocal 
music  in  the  capacity  of  listeners  two  types  of  mind 
appear.  There  is  first  the  man  in  whom  the  love  of 
music  per  se  is  so  paramount  that  it  drives  all  other 
considerations  into  the  background;  language  is 
only  incidental,  giving  occasion  for  musical  sounds; 
the  listener's  pleasure  consists  in  music  considered 
as  beautiful  tone  brilliantly  executed,  not  in  music 
as  the  bearer  of  sentiment  defined  in  words.  The 
second  type  lays  emphasis  upon  literary  and  dra- 
matic values;  to  him  poetry  and  action  are  of  su- 
preme consequence;  the  oflSce  of  music  is  to  reen- 
force  the  power  of  words  as  representative  of  ideas. 
There  are  even  minds  of  a  cast  so  predominantly 
literary  that  music  is  an  interference,  an  intruder 
that  gets  in  the  way  of  verse,  and  they  would  re- 
duce music  to  almost  complete  subordination.  It  is 
well  known  that  Goethe's  indifference  to  the  songs 
of  Schubert  was  the  result  of  a  jealousy  for  the  art 
of  poetry;  music  in  his  conviction  must  never  be 
so  assertive  that  the  listener's  attention  would  be 
deflected  from  the  words.  Hence  he  preferred  the 
simple  strains  of  Zelter  with  their  gentle  melodies, 
and  the  pale  harmonies  that  did  no  more  than  fur- 
nish a  slender  support  to  the  voice.  William  Butler 
Yeats,  the  Irish  poet,  goes  even  further  than  Goethe 
in  his  protest  against  the  allurements  of  music. 
He  confesses  that  there  is  something  about  music 
that  he  does  not  like,  and  he  discovered  the  reason 
when  a  friend  one  day  spoke  to  him  some  verses, 
with  her  fingers  lightly  passing  over  a  stringed 
148 


MUSIC  AND  POETRY 

instrument  which  she  held  upon  her  knees.  ''She 
spoke  to  a  Httle  tune,"  says  Mr.  Yeats,  "but  it  was 
never  singing.  A  singing  note  would  have  spoiled 
everything."  He  explains  his  aversion  to  ordi- 
nary song  in  this  wise:  "When  I  heard  anything 
sung  I  did  not  hear  the  words,  or  if  I  did  their 
natural  pronunciation  was  altered,  or  it  was 
drowned  in  another  music  which  I  did  not  under- 
stand." 

This  suppression  of  music  in  deference  to  poetry 
satisfies  Mr.  Yeats  because  poetry  is  his  passion, 
but  to  minds  differently  constituted  the  mere 
"speaking  to  a  tune"  would  be  extremely  tan- 
talizing, because  there  is  just  enough  of  musical 
suggestion  to  arouse  a  desire  that  is  constantly 
thwarted.  In  melodrama,  which  some  people, 
even  musicians,  esteem,  where  a  reciter  employs 
ordinary  speech  and  a  piano  or  an  orchestra  per- 
forms a  richly  evolved  accompaniment,  the  antag- 
onism is  still  more  decisive,  for  there  is  no  pretence 
at  amalgamation.  These  two  devices  are  merely 
evasions  of  the  difficulty.  What  is  wanted  is  a 
union  of  poetry  and  music  upon  such  terms  that 
each  shall  be  allowed  a  large  measure  of  its  natural 
right,  neither  completely  subjected  to  the  other,  both 
so  adjusted  in  stable  equipoise  that  each  shall 
enhance  the  pleasure  that  is  derived  from  its  fellow. 
A  unity  so  perfect  as  this  seems  practically  impos- 
sible to  attain.  The  listener  cannot  give  equal  at- 
tention to  both  poetry  and  music  at  the  same  time. 
Their  forms,  their  methods  of  action,  the  faculties 
149 


THE  EDUCATION   OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

engaged  in  their  reception  are  so  unlike  that  the 
effort  to  follow  the  diction  of  verse  with  mind  in- 
tent on  poetic  values,  interferes  with  the  effort  to 
follow  the  timbre,  form,  and  rhythm  of  music  with 
mind  alert  to  musical  values. 

One  of  the  most  interesting  details  in  the  history 
of  music  is  found  in  the  annals  of  the  conflict  for 
supremacy  between  the  two  factors  in  song.  In  a 
chant  the  rhythm  of  the  lines  imposes  itself  upon 
the  tones,  and  the  avowed  purpose  of  the  music 
is  to  emphasize  the  text.  In  the  unison  Gregorian 
chant,  which  constituted  the  music  of  the  church 
in  the  early  Middle  Ages  before  part-writing  was 
invented,  music  was  already  striving  to  break  loose 
from  its  thraldom.  The  "  ornate  "  or  "  florid  "  chant 
was  known  in  early  times,  even  among  the  nations 
of  antiquity,  the  voice  on  occasion  soaring  away 
in  a  flight  of  rapid  notes  on  a  single  vowel  —  a 
crude  but  significant  attempt  to  secure  an  inde- 
pendent exercise  of  the  musical  impulse.  With  the 
development  of  the  intricate  choral  counterpoint  of 
the  fourteenth,  fifteenth,  and  sixteenth  centuries  the 
demand  for  musical  freedom  showed  itself  in  an- 
other guise:  words  were  lost  and  their  sense  ob- 
scured in  a  tangled  web  of  crossing  melodies,  and 
the  written  notes  were  often  decorated  with  florid 
improvised  embellishments.  Popes  and  bishops  en- 
deavored to  repress  this  tendency  and  maintain  the 
claims  of  the  sacred  text  against  the  musical  ex- 
travagancies of  the  theorists  and  choristers,  but 
with  little  success.  The  passion  for  musical  indul- 
150 


MUSIC  AND   POETRY 

gence  was  too  strong  to  be  curbed  even  by  the  tra- 
ditional reverence  for  the  hturgy. 

When  a  reaction  came,  it  v^as  outside  the  fold  of 
the  church.  The  Florentine  inventors  of  the  opera 
at  the  close  of  the  sixteenth  century,  revolting 
against  the  obscuration  of  the  word  in  the  har- 
monic confusions  of  the  church  chorus,  produced 
a  kind  of  musical  declamation  in  which  music, 
reduced  almost  to  its  lowest  terms,  served  merely 
to  bring  the  text  into  clear  relief,  occasionally  em- 
ploying a  more  tuneful  strain  out  of  deference  to  the 
natural  behests  of  the  musical  ear,  but  avoiding 
whatever  would  disturb  the  concentration  of  the 
mind  upon  word  and  action.  It  seemed  to  Peri, 
Caccini,  and  Cavaliere  that  the  problem  of  dramatic 
music  was  solved,  but  they  did  not  make  suffi- 
cient allowance  for  the  musical  passion  rooted  in 
the  Italian  heart.  The  genius  of  Italy  in  the  sev- 
enteenth century  was  musical,  not  literary.  The 
triumph  of  verse  over  melody  was  short-lived. 
Melody  was  slowly  disengaged  from  the  simple  dry 
stile  parlante,  and  when  it  "found  itself"  in  the 
middle  of  the  century  there  was  an  outburst  of  ec- 
static song  in  the  opera  houses,  and  in  the  churches 
also,  that  fairly  turned  the  heads  of  the  gay  world 
of  Europe.  Italian  opera  composers  and  their  im- 
itators in  every  land  sprang  up  by  hundreds,  and 
with  one  accord  they  surrendered  themselves  heart 
and  soul  to  the  seductions  of  the  aria.  Singers 
trained  to  give  to  this  melody  all  the  splendor  that 
can  be  conferred  by  delicious  voices  and  the  last 
151 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

perfection  of  technique  swarmed  in  every  capital  in 
Europe.  All  ranks  were  captivated  by  the  no\'elty 
and  the  voluptuous  fascinations  of  the  new  art, 
and  the  vocal  feats  and  the  social  triumphs  of  the 
great  singers  read  like  the  tales  of  romance.  Never 
before  or  since  was  any  form  of  art  expression  so 
completely  the  despot  of  its  age. 

The  effect  upon  poetry,  plot,  and  action  can 
easily  be  conjectured.  It  is  difficult  to  maintain 
two  monarchs  in  one  realm,  and  music  in  the  giddi- 
ness of  its  success  reduced  its  dramatic  partner  to 
a  position  of  abject  inferiority.  The  Italian  grand 
opera,  as  it  waxed  on  the  side  of  melody  and  vo- 
calism,  waned  on  the  side  of  plot,  character,  and 
action.  It  became  stereotyped  into  a  barren,  me- 
chanical formalism.  Everything  was  contrived  by 
the  composer  and  librettist  in  the  interest  of  the 
singer  purely  as  virtuoso.  The  opera  came  to  con- 
sist of  a  score  or  more  of  arias  with  an  occasional 
duet,  the  whole  stitched  together  by  monotonous 
recitatives.  A  mechanical  plan  of  three  divisions 
was  contrived  for  this  aria,  and  lines  were  stretched 
and  words  repeated  so  that  the  text  might  fit  it, 
instead  of  the  music  growing  directly  out  of  the  form 
and  meaning  of  the  verse.  The  composer  became 
the  vassal  of  the  singer;  his  mission  was  not  so 
much  to  write  fine  music  as  it  was  to  contrive  musi- 
cal formulas  that  would  be  favorable  to  the  display 
of  the  vocal  art  of  this  or  that  popular  favorite. 
The  singer  had  the  right  to  take  whatever  liberty 
with  these  melodies  his  fancy  or  conceit  suggested, 
152 


MUSIC  AND   POETRY 

substituting  favorable  for  unfavorable  vowels,  in- 
terpolating the  most  astonishing  flourishes  and  ca- 
denzas at  every  opportune  or  inopportune  moment. 
It  must  not  be  supposed  that  there  was  no  thought 
of  expression  on  the  part  of  these  magnates  of  the 
opera.  They  were  praised  for  pathos  as  well  as 
for  brilliancy,  and  we  know  that  timbre  and  truth 
of  shading  were  considered  in  the  schools  as  well  as 
volubility  of  throat  and  strength  of  lungs.  But 
poetry  in  the  opera  had  grown  so  weak  that  the 
sentiments  to  be  expressed  became  conventional- 
feed;  words  were  little  valued  except  as  affording 
-a  suggestion  for  music;  very  little  of  natural  truth 
remained  in  these  cold  and  artificial  pretences  at 
musical  dramas. 

In  such  conditions  the  playwright  found  no  in- 
spiration, and  he  contrived  his  scenes  and  verses 
simply  in  order  that  he  might  provide  the  number 
of  arias  that  the  "laws"  of  the  opera  required. 
The  public  became  connoisseurs  of  vocal  art  as  the 
public  is  not  to-day.  Criticism  was  expended  only 
on  quality  of  voice  and  execution,  and  woe  to  the 
singer  who  transgressed  the  canons  of  technique  in 
the  slightest  particular  —  no  truth  of  action  or 
fine  feeling  for  poetic  sentiment  could  save  him 
from  the  wrath  of  his  outraged  patrons. 

This  tendency  toward  an  exaggerated  speciali- 
zation, exquisite  as  its  results  often  were  in  their 
impression  on  the  senses,  could  not  hold  the  favor 
of  those  who  demanded  in  art  truth  to  the  deeper 
facts  of  life  and  the  satisfaction  of  the  intellect,  and 
153 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

even  in  the  heyday  of  its  glory  the  Itahan  ideal  of 
song  met  vigorous  opposition.  Satirists  derided 
the  hollow  pretension  of  the  opera  stage.  The 
French  grand  opera,  founded  fifty  years  after  the 
Italian,  although  it  had  its  own  conventions  and 
artificialities,  maintained  variety  of  action,  pure 
declamation,  and  respect  for  the  written  word  as 
cardinal  principles,  and  gave  the  dance  and  chorus 
a  prominent  place  in  the  dramatic  scheme.  The 
opera  buffa  and  the  opera-comique  took  their  char- 
acters from  contemporary  life  and  insisted  upon 
comic  talent,  interesting  situation,  and  lively  por- 
trayal of  homespun  sentiment.  Handel's  oratorioti 
which  soon  after  1740  took  the  place  of  the  thread- 
bare Italian  opera  in  the  regard  of  the  British  pub- 
lic, gave  worthy  expression  to  the  grandest  ideas, 
and  worked  directly  and  indirectly  to  elevate  the 
standards  of  taste  in  respect  to  both  subject  and 
treatment.  Then  came  the  reforms  of  Gluck 
between  1760  and  1780,  based  on  the  endeavor,  as 
he  expressed  it  in  his  preface  to  "Alceste,"  "to 
reduce  music  to  its  proper  function,  that  of  sec- 
onding poetry  by  enforcing  the  expression  of  the 
sentiment  and  the  interest  of  the  situation,  with- 
out interrupting  the  action  or  weakening  it  by 
superfluous  ornament";  setting  "no  value  on 
novelty  as  such  unless  it  was  naturally  suggested 
by  the  situation  and  suited  to  the  expression." 
The  influence  of  these  precepts,  uniting  with  a 
powerful  dramatic  instinct,  was  seen  in  Mozart's 
later  operas.  Beethoven  wrote  "Fidelio"  in  order 
154 


MUSIC  AND  POETRY 

to  glorify  womanly  devotion,  and  made  it  his 
first  aim  to  embellish  his  theme  with  all  his  im- 
mense resources  of  musical  expression.  Weber  and 
Spohr  in  Germany,  Cherubini,  Spontini,  Mehul, 
and  Meyerbeer  in  France,  held  aloft,  in  spite  of 
occasional  wavering,  the  standard  of  Gluck's  prin- 
ciples. A  reaction  toward  "the  tyranny  of  the 
singer"  appeared  in  the  brilliant  group  of  Italian 
composers  in  the  early  part  of  the  nineteenth  cen- 
tury, of  whom  Rossini,  Bellini,  Donizetti,  and  the 
young  Verdi  were  chief, — but  this  reaction  was  not 
complete,  for  these  men,  although  they  revived  the 
ancient  glories  of  Italian  bel  canto  and  were  willing 
enough  to  sacrifice  poetic  value  and  dramatic  truth 
to  vocal  display  if  the  two  ideals  ever  came  into 
conflict,  often  sought  to  reconcile  them,  and  we 
ought  to  acknowledge  that  they  really  believed, 
although  in  a  rather  unintelligent  way,  that  the 
things  their  characters  said  and  did  were  worth 
saying  and  doing,  and  that  their  music  on  the 
whole  possessed  fitness  as  well  as  sensuous  beauty. 
The  evident  conviction  on  the  part  of  the  later 
Italian  and  French  masters,  that  poetry  and  plot 
had  received  all  the  consideration  they  were  en- 
titled to  in  such  a  form  of  art  as  the  opera,  might 
have  been  accepted  by  the  world  if  the  overwhelm- 
ing personality  of  Wagner  had  not  appeared,  de- 
claring himself  commissioned  to  destroy  the  Italian 
superstition  and  to  fulfil  the  incomplete  tendencies 
that  he  found  in  the  better  class  of  French  and  Ger- 
man opera.  Not  content  with  demanding  an  equi- 
155 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

librium  of  forces,  he  bluntly  maintained  that  mu- 
sic must  yield  to  poetry  and  action.  In  his  most 
elaborate  confession  of  faith,  Opera  and  Drama, 
he  lays  down,  as  the  rock  basis  of  his  reform,  the 
maxim  that  the  radical  error  of  the  opera  had  al- 
ways been  in  making  musical  effect  the  end  and 
the  drama  the  means,  whereas  in  a  true  musical 
drama  the  poetic  element  should  be  the  end  and 
the  music  the  means.  It  would  be  easy  to  show 
that  Wagner  was  often  inconsistent,  and  that  in 
many  passages  in  his  dramas  the  commanding  im- 
pression is  just  as  much  a  one-sided  musical  eflfect 
as  it  is  in  any  work  of  his  "erroneous"  predeces- 
sors. In  such  scenes,  for  example,  as  the  "fire 
charm,"  Briinnhilde's  awakening,  the  following 
duet  between  Briinnhilde  and  Siegfried,  the  sword 
forging,  Siegfried's  dirge,  Isolde's  death  song,  and 
the  quintet,  "prize  song,"  and  final  chorus  in  "The 
Mastersingers,"  there  is  no  apparent  effort  to  make 
the  drama  the  end  and  the  music  merely  a  means. 
The  difference  between  Wagner  and  his  rivals  in 
such  situations  is  a  difference  in  sheer  musical 
inventive  power  and  a  radical  difference  in  form. 

One  recent  composer  at  least,  viz.,  Debussy  in 
"Pelleas  and  Melisande,"  has  succeeded  in  execut- 
ing Wagner's  avowed  intention  with  what  may  be 
called  complete  consistency.  That  is  to  say,  that 
the  music,  however  beautiful,  is  so  thoroughly  the 
enveloping  atmosphere  of  the  play  that  the  lis- 
tener is  never  turned  by  the  sounds  of  voices  and 
instruments  from  his  concentration  upon  the  action. 


MUSIC  AND   POETRY 

In  this  remarkable  work  there  is  the  most  perfect 
blend  and  fusion  of  scene,  poetry,  and  music  that 
has  yet  been  accomplished  except  in  a  few  isolated 
moments  in  Wagner's  work.  But  is  this  the  final 
solution  of  the  problem?  Is  this  the  complete  and 
perfect  music-drama  for  which  the  world  has  been 
waiting,  as  Debussy's  disciples  affirm?  Other 
critics  complain  that  this  work  lacks  musical  inter- 
est. In  this  controversy  we  are  landed  again  upon 
the  old  debatable  ground.  Why,  it  is  asked,  should 
the  musical  interest  be  sacrificed,  or  even  subor- 
dinated, to  the  dramatic  ?  May  not  Wagner's  prin- 
ciple, when  carried  to  its  farthest  consequence,  be 
wrong,  and  did  he  not  do  well  to  be  inconsistent 
when  his  inconsistency  gave  us  the  most  magnifi- 
cent, the  most  profoundly  emotional  music  that 
ever  issued  from  the  human  brain?  Why  should 
people  be  censured  if  they  go  to  the  opera  for  mu- 
sical enjoyment  rather  than  for  the  gratification  of 
a  taste  for  poetry  and  action,  as  unquestionably  the 
vast  majority  of  them  do  ?  Is  not  opera  rightly  to 
be  classed  as  a  phase  of  musical  art  rather  than  a 
phase  of  literary  art  ?  Debussy's  work  is  so  far  an 
interesting  exception  to  the  rule,  and  there  is  no 
sign  that  the  public  will  ever  treat  the  opera  as  a 
mere  substitute  for  the  spoken  drama.  Never- 
theless, the  work  of  Gluck  and  Mozart  and  Wag- 
ner and  the  later  Verdi  has  not  been  in  vain.  The 
opera  will  never  relapse  to  its  former  condition  in 
which  poetic  subject  was  a  matter  of  indifference 
and  the  actor  was  lost  in  the  singer.  Time  has  ac- 
157 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

complished  its  revenges  for  violations  of  truth;  the 
operas  that  have  survived  their  generation  and  are 
established  in  the  esteem  of  thoughtful  minds  have 
been  those  that  are  strong  on  the  dramatic  side. 

The  war  between  word  and  tone  has  also  been 
fought  out  with  equal  lack  of  conclusiveness  in  the 
domain  of  lyric  song.  But  in  this  field  the  sacri- 
fice of  poetic  interest  to  vocal  display  has  never  gone 
to  such  lengths  as  in  the  opera.  Indeed  the  in- 
stances have  been  comparatively  rare  in  which 
either  lyric  composers  or  lyric  singers  have  been 
content  to  treat  the  voice  merely  as  an  apparatus 
for  sensational  virtuosity.  Such  an  abuse  can 
hardly  exist  when  any  heed  is  given  to  literary 
merit  in  the  selection  of  verse  for  musical  setting, 
and  the  fact  has  been  that  the  best  song  composers 
have  as  a  rule  chosen  poems  that  possess  beauty 
in  thought  and  diction,  and  have  written  music 
not  simply  for  the  sake  of  independent  melodious 
charm,  but  rather  with  an  eye  to  the  appropriate 
expression  of  the  text.  The  reason  for  this  differ- 
ence between  song  and  the  opera  is  perfectly  clear. 
The  lyric  poets  do  not  commonly  write  their  verses 
simply  for  the  musicians  to  make  songs  of;  the 
poetry,  however  it  may  seem  to  invite  musical  treat- 
ment, is  intended  to  stand  alone,  and  thus  having 
no  end  beyond  itself  it  is  the  expression  of  the  best 
skill  of  the  author.  The  opera  hbretto,  on  the 
contrary,  is  never  planned  to  make  an  independent 
impression;  the  writer's  purpose  is  not  to  produce 
a  literary  and  dramatic  work  of  self-dependent  in- 
158 


MUSIC  AND   POETRY 

terest,  but  a  more  or  less  mechanical  verbal  contriv- 
ance that  will  be  adapted  to  the  special  exigencies 
of  scenic  and  musical  effect  according  to  theatrical 
conventions.  Librettists  as  a  rule  are  not  poets 
"by  the  grace  of  God,"  but  clever  adapters  of 
scenes,  mechanical  artificers  of  verse,  whose  aim 
is  not  literary  but  musical  effect.  The  opera  com- 
poser rarely  finds  a  dramatic  poem  that  can  be  used 
as  it  stands,  he  must  have  one  built  for  him  out  of 
new  or  old  material.  The  song  writer,  on  the  con- 
trary, is  never  at  a  loss  for  a  text;  the  world  is  full 
of  beautiful  poetry  waiting,  without  the  slightest 
need  of  alteration,  for  his  use.  There  is  no  excuse 
for  him  if  he  chooses  verse  of  inferior  quality;  and 
when  he  has  taken  his  text,  if  he  has  in  him  the 
love  of  poetry  (and  if  he  has  not  he  does  not  deserve 
to  be  called  a  song  writer  at  all)  he  treats  it  with 
veneration,  and  makes  it  his  dearest  hope  that  he 
may  be  able  to  do  something  worthy  of  the  noble 
art  to  which  he  has  joined  his  own. 

It  is  the  spirit  of  church  music  and  the  folk  song 
that  has  been  transmitted  to  the  lyric  art  song, 
not  the  spirit  of  the  opera.  The  very  conception, 
method,  and  environment  of  the  opera,  with  its 
elaborate  machinery,  its  combination  of  mediums 
— scenery,  action,  vocal  music,  orchestral  music — 
its  necessity  for  instantaneous  and  stirring  effect, 
all  encourage  spectacularism.  The  finer  shades  of 
emotion,  the  more  tender  communing  of  mind 
with  mind,  require  the  more  delicate  vehicle  of 
the  lyric.  The  opera  has  always  been  the  favor- 
159 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

ite  entertainment  of  a  limited  number,  not  to  say 
of  a  separate  caste;  the  music  of  the  people  has 
been  church  music  and  lyric  song.  The  Greeks 
knew  the  subtle  affinity  that  draws  music  into 
the  embrace  of  poetry;  the  Minnesingers  and 
Troubadours  knew  it;  in  the  Elizabethan  age  this 
mutual  passion  was  recognized  and  blessed.  But 
not  until  the  nineteenth  century  has  this  wedlock 
been  crowned  with  an  offspring  that  perpetuates 
the  dual  strength  and  loveliness  of  its  parentage. 
The  age  of  the  great  German  song  composers  was 
coincident  with  the  revival  of  lyric  poetry  under 
the  hands  of  Goethe,  Schiller,  and  the  roman- 
ticists. In  fact,  it  lies  in  the  nature  of  the  case  that 
in  this  branch  of  musical  art  the  composers  wait 
upon  the  poets,  the  musicians  finding  little  inspira- 
tion in  prosaic  and  commonplace  verse.  Another 
striking  illustration  is  the  rise  of  the  brilliant  group 
of  French  song  composers  of  the  last  half  century, 
following  the  outburst  of  French  lyric  poetry  begun 
in  the  works  of  Andre  Chenier  and  continued  in 
Lamartine,  Victor  Hugo,  De  Musset,Gautier,  Alfred 
de  Vigny,  Leconte  de  Lisle,  Verlaine,  and  their  com- 
peers. Schubert,  who  leads  the  brilliant  host  of 
modern  song  writers,  exemplifies  the  controlling 
tendency  of  his  school  by  seeking  his  texts  among 
the  works  of  such  men  as  Goethe,  Schiller,  Heine, 
Shakespeare,  Scott,  and  the  poets  of  his  day  and 
country  who  expressed,  although  with  varying 
ability,  the  genuine  emotions  of  the  common  heart. 
This  guiding  motive  was  adopted  by  his  successors, 
1 60 


MUSIC  AND  POETRY 

and  so  stimulating  was  this  ideal  to  the  inventive 
powers  of  every  musician  who  had  accepted  truth 
to  the  inner  life  of  the  soul  as  the  law  of  his  art, 
that  the  lyric  inspiration  swept  like  a  spiritual 
trade  wind  over  the  world,  and  Schumann,  Franz, 
Brahms,  Jensen,  and  Wolf  found  worthy  emulators 
in  the  Norwegians  Grieg  and  Kjerulf,  the  Rus- 
sians Rubinstein  and  Tchaikovsky,  the  Hungarian 
Liszt,  the  Bohemian  Dvorak,  the  American  Mac- 
Dowell,and  the  Frenchmen  Faure,  Godard,  Duparc, 
Saint-Saens,  Massenet,  and  Debussy,  These  com- 
posers, with  many  others  hardly  less  worthy  of 
esteem,  have  discovered  an  art  in  which  music  and 
poetry  penetrate  one  another  in  a  mingling  so  com- 
plete that  each  word  finds  an  inevitable  correlative 
in  a  musical  tone,  poetic  line  and  musical  phrase 
twinborn,  mutually  dependent  and  inseparable. 
Every  lover  of  song  has  in  his  memory  scores  of 
lyrics  of  which  it  might  be  said  that  music  has  not 
so  much  added  a  new  means  of  expression  to  verse 
as  it  has  drawn  forth  an  emotion  which  words  can 
but  partly  reveal,  and  endowed  poetic  utterance 
with  a  new  attribute. 

In  this  union  the  poetry  remains  the  motive 
power  determining  the  course  of  the  composer's  in- 
vention. His  purpose  is  not,  as  in  former  periods, 
to  produce  something  that  is  in  and  of  itself  mu- 
sically pleasing,  but  rather,  taking  possession  of 
verse  in  which  genuine  human  feeling  is  appro- 
priately rendered,  to  fashion  such  a  setting  for  this 
jewel  that  the  most  subtle  refinements  of  poetiq 
i6i 


THE  EDUCATION   OF  A   MUSIC   LOVER 

suggestion  shall  find  their  convincing  counterpart 
in  musical  chord  or  phrase.  Vocal  music  thus  de- 
clares its  correspondence  with  what  is  perhaps  the 
most  productive  tendency  in  nineteenth  century 
art,  viz.,  direct,  truthful  characterization.  Absolute 
fitness  of  style  is  the  demand,  the  most  subtle  and 
direct  interpretation,  even  though  formal  beauty 
and  superficial  sensuous  charm  be  sacrificed. 

The  most  eminent  exponent  of  this  tendency  in 
opera  is,  of  course,  Richard  Wagner.  He  is  like- 
wise an  eloquent  champion  of  it  in  his  critical  and 
autobiographical  writings.  No  plainer  statement 
of  this  principle  and  its  consequences  in  the  com- 
position of  melody  could  be  made  than  that  of 
Wagner,  in  A  Communication  to  My  Friends.  If 
the  reader  will  refer  back  to  what  has  been  said 
in  the  section  on  melody  in  this  book,  Wagner's 
statement  will  be  clear.  "Wherever,"  he  says,  "I 
had  to  give  utterance  to  the  emotions  of  my  dra- 
matis persoticB,  as  shown  by  them  in  feeling  dis- 
course, I  was  forced  entirely  to  abstain  from  this 
rhythmic  melody  of  the  Folk  [that  is,  the  conven- 
tional structure  of  four  and  eight  measure  metre]: 
or  rather,  it  could  not  occur  to  me  to  employ  that 
method  of  expression;  nay,  here  the  dialogue  it- 
self, conformably  to  the  emotional  contents,  was  to 
be  rendered  in  such  a  fashion  that,  not  the  melodic 
Expression,  per  se,  but  the  expressed  Emotion  should 
rouse  the  interest  of  the  hearer.  The  melody  must 
therefore  spring,  quite  of  itself,  from  out  the  verse; 
in  itself,  as  sheer  melody,  it  could  not  be  permitted 
102 


MUSIC  AND   POETRY 

to  attract  attention,  but  only  in  so  far  as  it  was  the 
most  expressive  vehicle  for  an  emotion  already 
plainly  outlined  in  the  words.  With  this  strict  con- 
ception of  the  melodic  element,  I  now  completely 
left  the  usual  operatic  mode  of  composition;  inas- 
much as  I  no  longer  tried  intentionally  for  custom- 
ary melody,  or,  in  a  sense,  for  Melody  at  all,  but 
absolutely  let  it  take  its  rise  from  feeling  utterance 
of  the  words."  ^ 

In  judging  the  merits  of  this  later  style  of  "con- 
tinuous music"  as  applied  to  song  and  opera,  one 
must  recognize  the  difference  between  the  idea  of 
a  lyric  poem  and  that  of  a  dramatic  scene.  There 
are,  indeed,  varieties  of  lyrics,  but  the  strict  defi- 
nition of  such  a  poem  is  that  it  presents  a  single 
thought  or  sentiment,  permitting  its  phrases  to  alter 
in  changing  circumstances,  allowing  the  thought  to 
reveal  new  aspects  under  varying  lights,  letting 
the  fancy  play  around  it,  yet  essentially  one  mood, 
one  conception,  not  describing  the  events  that  pro- 
duced the  feeling  or  anticipating  its  consequences, 
but  a  direct  immediate  presentation  of  the  feel- 
ing itself,  with  just  enough  of  incident  to  localize 
and  determine  the  feeling  and  bring  it  into  relief. 
When  the  mood  has  been  set  forth  in  a  clear 
and  appealing  way  the  purpose  of  the  poem  is 
accomplished.  Hence  in  a  multitude  of  lyrics  suit- 
able for  musical  setting  the  old  form  of  tune,  re- 
turning upon  itself,  leading  back  to  its  first  strain 
and  its  first  key,  even   repeating   the   tune   note 

'  Translation  by  William  Ashton  Ellis, 
163 


THE  EDUCATION   OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

for  note  in  the  successive  stanzas,  is  perfectly  ap- 
propriate. Schubert  was  not  in  error  as  to  his 
form  when  he  wrote  "Who  is  Sylvia?"  and  "Faith 
in  Spring."  The  treatment  in  these  songs  is  as 
proper  as  the  quite  different  method  in  "The 
Phantom  Double"  and  "The  Erl  King."  Even 
in  the  opera  the  conventional  song  form  may  still 
be  admissible  where  the  action  becomes  stationary 
and  the  actor  expresses  a  feeling  that  requires  a 
considerable  amount  of  time  for  its  unfolding. 
Delila's  song,  "My  Heart  at  Thy  Sweet  Voice," 
in  Saint-Saens's  "Samson  and  Delila"  is  not  to 
be  condemned  on  any  just  principle  of  musico- 
dramatic  propriety.  But  in  the  large  stretches  of 
an  opera  scene  the  present-day  insistence  upon 
dramatic  truth  accepts  Wagner's  principle  with 
certain  modifications.  In  a  true  drama  there  must 
be  constant  life,  change,  and  movement;  a  frequent 
arrest  for  the  sake  of  vocal  display  leads  inevitably 
to  the  old  abuses.  With  the  reassertion  of  dramatic 
reality  and  poetic  interest  the  form  becomes  more 
continuous,  expansive,  and  flexible,  and  the  en- 
forcement of  the  law  that  musical  form  must  grow 
inevitably  out  of  the  matrix  of  the  verse  compels 
formalism  to  give  way  to  direct  and  intimate  ex- 
pression. 

All  the  musical  forms  that  ever  existed  are,  it 
seems  to  me,  still  valid.  Their  justification,  how- 
ever, rests  upon  their  fitness  to  the  thought,  verse 
diction,  or  situation  which  calls  them  into  life. 
Even  the  colorature  song,  which  composers  no  long- 
164 


MUSIC  AND  POETRY 

er  write,  is  often  able  to  vindicate  its  reason  for 
being.  Even  Wagner  speaks  of  "  the  classic  noble- 
ness of  the  Italian  vocal  art  of  earlier  times." 
But  the  former  acquiescence  in  musical  charm  at 
the  cost  of  truth  was  a  sign  of  an  imperfect  criterion 
of  judgment.  Another,  which  we  believe  to  be 
higher,  has  taken  its  place. 

The  effect  of  the  new  principle  and  method  in 
lyric  and  dramatic  music  upon  the  vocalist  can 
easily  be  understood.  The  singer  who  adopts  the 
interpretative  conception  accepts  the  sovereignty 
of  poetry  and  makes  the  expression  of  the  poet's 
mind  the  end  and  aim  of  his  effort.  He  feels  the 
poetry  through  and  through.  He  studies  it  as  the 
actor  studies  his  lines.  His  vocal  style,  his  tone 
color,  his  determination  of  speed  and  dynamics,  his 
phrasing  —  all  issue  from  the  endeavor  to  keep  the 
thought  of  the  text  uppermost  in  his  mind.  In  the 
singing  of  a  typical  artist  of  this  school  there  are 
three  creative  personalities  in  alliance  for  one  com- 
mon end;  poet,  composer,  and  singer  are  actuated 
by  a  single  purpose,  and  the  listener  finds  that  his 
attention  is  not  wandering  in  a  maze  of  distracting 
sounds,  but  directed  along  the  path  marked  out  by 
the  poet's  imagination. 

The  music  lover  will  now  naturally  ask  if  the 
two  ideals  presented  in  the  history  of  song  —  per- 
fect vocal  technique  as  an  end  in  itself,  and  su- 
preme emphasis  upon  poetic  expression  —  are  com- 
patible with  one  another.  Need  there  be  conflict 
between  them?  Does  insistence  upon  the  most 
165 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

refined  vocalism  involve  any  sacrifice  of  truth  of 
pronunciation  and  poetic  emphasis,  or  may  im- 
purity of  voice  or  flaws  in  execution  be  excused  in 
return  for  perfect  declamation  and  strong  intel- 
lectual and  emotional  conception?  There  are  cer- 
tainly conspicuous  instances  in  which  one  has  been 
exalted  over  the  other,  and  singers  of  both  types 
have  had  enthusiastic  admirers.  The  consum- 
mate flower  of  the  Italian  hel  canto  has  been  dis- 
played in  later  days  in  the  singing  of  Adelina  Patti. 
Mr.  Henry  T.  Finck  says  of  her:  "Niemann  was 
no  doubt  right  in  pronouncing  her  the  most 
perfect  vocalist  of  all  times."  "The  ordinary  epi- 
thets applicable  to  a  voice,  such  as  sweet,  sympa- 
thetic, flexible,  expressive,  sound  almost  too  com- 
monplace to  be  applied  to  Patti's  voice  at  its  best." 
"Her  voice  has  a  natural  sensuous  charm  like  a 
Cremona  violin,  which  it  is  a  pleasure  to  listen  to 
irrespective  of  what  she  happens  to  be  singing. 
It  is  a  pleasure,  too,  to  hear  under  what  perfect 
control  she  has  it;  how,  without  changing  the  equal- 
ity of  the  sound,  she  passes  from  a  high  to  a  low 
note,  from  piano  to  forte,  gradually  or  suddenly,  and 
all  without  the  least  sense  of  effort.  Indeed  her 
notes  are  as  spontaneous  as  those  of  a  nightingale." 
In  later  years  she  showed  more  and  more  anxiety 
to  win  renown  as  a  dramatic  singer,  and  here, 
Mr.  Finck  says,  "the  vocal  style  which  she  ex- 
clusively cultivated  proved  an  insuperal^le  obstacle. 
Although  free  from  the  smaller  vices  of  the  Italian 
school,  she  could  not  overcome  the  great  and  fatal 
i66 


MUSIC  AND  POETRY 

shortcoming  of  that  school  —  the  maltreatment  of 
the  poetic  text.  She  could  not  find  the  proper 
accents  required  in  operas  where  the  words  of  the 
text  are  as  important  as  the  melody  itself.  Hav- 
ing neglected  to  master  the  more  vigorous  vowels 
and  expressive  consonants,  she  cannot  assert  her 
art  in  dramatic  works.  Her  voice,  in  short,  is 
merely  an  instrument." 

As  a  conspicuous  example  of  a  singer  of  the  op- 
posite kind  we  have  had  in  recent  years  Dr.  Lud- 
wig  Wiillner,  who  was  advertised  at  his  first  ap- 
pearance in  this  country  as  "  a  great  singer  without 
a  voice."  Here  was  a  rather  startling  challenge  to 
established  notions  of  the  vocal  art.  Dr.  Wiillner 
has  in  a  high  degree  the  abilities  of  an  actor.  His 
literary  knowledge  is  extensive  and  his  taste  that  of 
a  man  of  broad  culture.  He  can  enter  sympathet- 
ically into  a  very  wide  range  of  poetic  conceptions. 
In  articulation,  pronunciation,  emphasis,  variety 
of  expression,  mastery  of  all  the  nuances  of  feeling 
—  boisterous  humor,  tenderness,  pathos,  and  grim- 
mest tragedy  —  flexibility  in  adaptation  of  style  to 
subject,  accumulative  force  in  working  up  emo- 
tional climaxes  —  in  all  these  features  his  truthful- 
ness of  conception  (barring  an  occasional  tendency 
to  exaggerate)  and  vividness  of  presentation  are 
extraordinary,  and  the  impression  he  produced  has 
had  few  parallels  in  the  annals  of  music  in  America. 
The  first  enthusiasm  beginning  to  abate,  voices  of 
protest  were  heard.  High  critical  authorities  de- 
clared that  the  art  of  pure  song  had  rights  which  this 
167 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

great  musical  declaimer  constantly  violated;  that 
his  voice  lacking  sensuous  charm,  and  his  method 
betraying  indifference  to  the  classic  laws  vi^hich  the 
acknowledged  masters  of  three  centuries  had  pro- 
mulgated, he  was  undoing  the  work  of  earnest  and 
conservative  vocal  teachers,  and  misleading  the  criti- 
cal judgment  of  the  public  into  the  belief  that  bad 
intonation,  harshness  of  tone,  and  lack  of  all  the 
vocal  graces  are  matters  of  little  consequence  pro- 
vided that  "expression,"  especially  "dramatic  ex- 
pression," is  assured.  Is  singing,  the  objectors 
ask,  the  rendering  of  poetry  by  means  of  tones 
that  are  charming  to  the  ear  under  all  circum- 
stances, or  is  it  a  matter  of  accents  and  tempos 
and  dynamics  with  merely  rhetorical  ends  in  view, 
unregardful  of  the  laws  of  musical  beauty  and  per- 
fection which  have  hitherto  been  maintained  in 
vocal  and  instrumental  music  alike? 

The  musical  public  seems  to  be  divided  upon 
this  issue.  In  every  country  vocal  sins  are  perpe- 
trated by  distinguished  performers  and  pardoned 
in  the  interest  of  what  is  called  "interpretation." 
On  the  other  hand,  many  frequenters  of  operas 
and  concerts  —  probably  the  majority  —  are  heed- 
less of  all  considerations  except  purity,  brilliancy,  or 
flexibility  of  voice.  Madame  Patti  and  Dr.  Willlner 
have  both  had  their  unqualified  admirers;  and 
yet  reason  and  experience  would  seem  to  declare 
that  neither  affords  the  model  to  which  the  earnest 
singer  should  aspire.  Beautiful  singing  is  not 
wholly  poetic  expression,  for  the  voice  is  an  in- 
i68 


MUSIC  AND  POETRY 

strument  on  which  one  plays  for  the  delight  of  the 
ear.  Neither  is  it  pure  tone  and  finished  technique 
wholly,  for  without  uncovering  the  soul  that  dwells 
in  poetry  it  cannot  move  the  intellect.  Both  qual- 
ities —  emotional  expression  and  technical  com- 
pleteness —  may  unite,  and  there  is  no  inherent 
reason  why  they  should  not  supplement  and  sus- 
tain each  other.  It  is  no  doubt  true  that  in  the 
lyric  drama  and  German  Lied  there  has  been  in 
some  quarters  a  disregard  of  vocal  perfection  as  a 
result  of  reaction  against  the  one-sidedness  of  the 
old  Italian  school,  but  no  considerable  portion  of 
the  world  will  ever  be  content  with  bad  singing 
under  any  pretence.  Another  reaction  is  now  in 
progress,  the  nature  of  which  is  shown  by  the  asser- 
tion that  is  becoming  frequent  among  the  best  writ- 
ers, that  there  is  but  one  right  way  to  sing,  whether 
the  music  be  that  of  Mozart,  Handel,  Schubert,  or 
Wagner.  Harshness  of  tone,  a  jerky  explosive  style, 
an  audible  gasp  when  taking  breath,  a  perpetual  un- 
steadiness, a  lazy  sliding  from  note  to  note  —  these 
vices  are  not  expressive,  and  are  no  more  to  be  in- 
dulged in  the  modern  declamatory  music  than  in  the 
classic  bel  canto.  This  law  finds  no  obstacle  to  its 
enforcement  in  the  fact  that  composers  nowadays 
aim  more  at  writing  music  that  is  characteristic 
than  music  that  is  formally  beautiful  in  the  classic 
sense.  Emphasis  may  shift  from  one  side  to  an- 
other, and  composers  may  risk  audacities  of  expres- 
sion from  which  their  forbears  would  shrink  in 
dismay;  nevertheless,  singing  remains  an  art  and 
169 


THE  EDUCATION   OF  A   MUSIC  LOVER 

cannot  survive  unless  it  obeys  the  universal  laws  of 
its  kingdom.  Just  as  a  drama  so  naturalistic  that 
the  time-honored  principles  of  acting  must  be  abol- 
ished would  not  be  good  art;  just  as  a  painting  so 
literally  imitative  that  the  criteria  of  draftsman- 
ship and  composition  that  have  been  maintained  by 
every  master  from  the  beginning  are  defied,  would 
not  be  good  art;  so  any  alliance  of  poetry  and 
music  for  ends  w'hose  realization  would  put  ugliness 
of  sound  in  place  of  beauty  would  be  self-destruc- 
tive. No  art  is  expected  always  to  remain  isolated 
and  solitary;  the  arts  may  combine  for  purposes 
which  one  alone  cannot  accomplish;  but  in  this 
union  they  are  not  required  to  deny  their  original 
natures,  they  must  still  remain  capable  of  giving 
separately  that  special  and  peculiar  pleasure  for 
which  they  were  individually  endowed. 


T70 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE   ART   OF   SONG:    THE   TECHNIQUE 
OF  THE   SINGER 

There  need  be  no  quarrel  with  the  assertion 
that  the  end  and  aim  of  technique  is  expression. 
Pure  vocalism,  however,  is  not  merely  a  means.  A 
lovely  voice,  perfectly  controlled,  is  in  itself  a  cause 
of  happiness  not  to  be  repented  of,  even  leaving  out 
of  the  account  its  relation  to  words.  Lyric  and 
dramatic  interpretation  and  trained  mechanism 
need  never  be  set  over  against  one  another  as  di- 
vergent in  aim,  and  they  should  not  be  separated 
in  the  consciousness  of  the  singer  or  hearer.  Never- 
theless, there  is  so  marked  a  tendency  in  certain 
quarters  to  disregard  the  classic  traditions  of  re- 
fined voice  production  in  the  supposed  interest  of 
"expression"  that  it  seems  worth  while  to  devote 
a  short  chapter  to  the  technical  principles  involved 
in  good  singing.  There  is  all  the  more  reason  for 
this  in  the  fact  that  the  great  majority  of  music 
lovers  are  so  ignorant  of  what  constitutes  correct 
singing  that  when  they  hear  a  voice  which  gives 
an  excitement  to  their  nerves  by  its  sensuous  quality, 
especially  by  its  brilliancy  or  power,  they  applaud 
171 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

and  go  away  satisfied,  indifferent  to  many  faults  or 
merits  which  an  intelligent  critic  condemns  or 
praises. 

An  appreciation  of  skill  in  singing  is  certainly  a 
necessary  part  of  a  music  lover's  education.  The 
principles  involved  are  so  few  and  so  easily  stated 
that  no  one  need  mistake  them.  As  this  book  is 
not  a  technical  treatise  on  any  branch  of  musical 
art,  but  an  attempt  to  show  the  amateur  how  and 
where  to  direct  his  observation,  a  brief  enumera- 
tion seems  to  be  all  that  is  required. 

The  laws  of  good  vocalism  which  it  is  needful  to 
bear  in  mind  may  be  placed  in  two  categories,  one 
including  the  proper  production  and  management 
of  tone,  the  other  dealing  with  suitableness  of  style 
to  the  sentiment  of  the  text.  In  the  first  case  the 
laws  are  essentially  the  same  as  those  that  are  in- 
volved in  the  playing  of  instruments  in  which  sus- 
tained tones  capable  of  shading  are  produced,  such 
as  the  violin,  clarinet,  or  horn.  Up  to  a  certain 
point  the  critical  listener  will  be  safe  in  his  judg- 
ments if  he  compares  a  singer's  execution  with  that 
of  a  violinist.  In  fact,  a  singer,  as  well  as  a  lover 
of  singing,  can  learn  much  by  listening  to  fine 
violin  playing. 

In  the  first  place,  the  hearer  will  expect  that  the 
tones  of  the  singer's  voice  will  be  pure  and  agree- 
able. One  would  suppose  that  there  need  be  no 
mistake  on  this  point,  but  every  critic  has  noticed 
the  singular  fact  that  a  voice  will  often  sound  neu- 
tral or  even  unpleasant  to  one  ear  and  beautiful  to 
172 


THE  TECHNIQUE   OF  THE   SINGER 

another.  In  such  cases  prejudice  or  some  kind  of 
accessory  or  association  will  have  a  good  deal  to  do 
—  friendship  perhaps,  or  admiration  for  a  singer's 
mental  or  moral  qualities,  strongly  affecting  the 
impression  made  upon  the  ear.  Such  questions 
as  this,  however,  may  be  left  out  of  the  account.  I 
shall  assume  that  sensuously  beautiful  tones  are 
immediately  appreciated  by  people  with  a  normal 
auditory  apparatus.  The  warning  that  is  required 
must  be  addressed  to  those  who  perceive  voice 
quality  and  nothing  else. 

It  is  not  surprising  that  where  physical  beauty  of 
tone  exists  it  should  often  drive  all  other  considera- 
tions out  of  the  field.  There  is  no  other  sensation 
received  by  ear  or  eye  that  is  capable  of  giving 
quite  that  thrill  of  rapture  that  is  felt  when  the 
nerves  of  hearing  are  swept  by  a  flood  of  glorious 
tones  issuing  from  the  throat  of  a  great  singer. 
One's  whole  frame  seems  to  quiver  in  sympathetic 
vibration.  This  extraordinary  effect  is  not  merely 
physical,  it  is  also  psychological.  It  is  "the  cry 
of  the  human,"  and  it  is  the  deepest  soul  in  us  that 
makes  reply.  We  call  a  lovely  voice  "sympa- 
thetic," and  there  is  a  world  of  associations  involved 
in  that  word,  some  near,  some  remote,  passing 
down  to  us  through  uncounted  generations  that 
have  aspired,  suffered,  and  enjoyed.  The  ecstasy 
kindled  by  an  entrancing  voice  has  a  source  deeper 
than  we  know.  Its  communications  are  beyond 
all  measure  subtle  and  extended.  It  is  the  admo- 
nition of  the  higher  instincts,  it  is  a  visitation  that 

173 


THE  EDUCATION   OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

redeems  us  for  the  moment  from  the  thraldom  of 
space  and  time.  Individual  interests  give  way  to 
those  that  are  common  and  universal.  No  one 
need  apologize  if  his  nature  responds  with  whole- 
hearted enthusiasm  to  such  an  appeal  as  this. 

A  voice  capable  of  producing  such  effects  through 
its  timbre  alone  is  rare,  and  even  such  a  voice  is 
to  a  large  degree  dependent  upon  certain  powers 
that  arc  not  native  but  acquired  —  accomplish- 
ments that  are  secured  only  by  prolonged  and  in- 
telligent labor.  This  art,  like  every  other,  is  built 
upon  science.  The  proper  emission  and  control  of 
tone,  without  which  natural  gifts  are  of  no  avail, 
are  attainments  that  are  deliberate,  self-conscious, 
and  to  a  large  extent  mechanical.  They  are  mas- 
tered only  after  years  of  assiduous  study  under  the 
direction  of  wise  and  experienced  teachers.  These 
acquired  technical  habitudes  enter  into  the  account 
in  a  listener's  enjoyment,  whether  he  is  fully  con- 
scious of  the  fact  or  not,  and,  as  in  all  appreciation 
of  art,  a  knowledge  of  the  problems  and  the  diffi- 
culties involved  has  much  to  do  with  his  satisfac- 
tions. A  little  instruction  shows  him  that  good 
singing,  merely  on  the  side  of  tone  production,  is  not 
a  simple  matter,  and  that  it  is  well  for  him  to  ac- 
quire certain  other  perceptions  besides  his  unre- 
flectivc  recoil  to  the  mere  physical  impact  of  sound. 

The  first  necessity  in  fine  singing  is  that  the  tones 
shall  be  true  in  intonation,  that  is  to  say,  the  voice 
must  be  exactly  on  the  pitch  in  every  note,  and 
every  tone  must  be  carried  through  without  the 


THE  TECHNIQUE   OF  THE   SINGER 

slightest  wavering,  whether  the  notes  be  long  or 
short,  loud  or  soft,  high  or  low,  and  whether  the 
passage  be  quick  or  slow,  shaded  or  uniform.  To 
the  average  listener  a  voice  will  seem  beautiful  if 
the  intonation  is  perfect,  although  it  may  be  quite 
ordinary  so  far  as  timbre  is  concerned.  This  per- 
fect accuracy  of  pitch  and  firmness  of  tone,  which 
is  in  itself  very  agreeable  and  seems  to  make  other 
virtues  possible,  ought,  we  think,  to  be  a  matter  of 
course.  Just  here,  however,  appears  the  very  sin- 
gular fact  that  singing  out  of  tune  and  singing  with 
an  unsteady  flow  of  sound  are  not  uncommon  on 
the  dramatic  and  concert  stage,  that  famous  sing- 
ers are  often  guilty  of  one  or  both  faults,  and  that 
many  audiences  appear  not  to  be  offended  thereby. 
There  have,  indeed,  been  times  when  singers  actu- 
ally cultivated  the  tremolo,  and  audiences  accepted 
it  as  a  new  beauty  that  had  come  as  a  blessing  into 
the  world.  The  tremolo,  it  is  said,  became  the 
fashion  in  Paris,  and  afterward  in  other  musical 
centres,  because  it  was  employed  by  Rubini,  the 
most  adored  tenor  of  the  first  part  of  the  nineteenth 
century,  in  his  later  years  to  conceal  the  deteriora- 
tion of  his  organ.  In  this  singular  fact  we  have  an 
illustration  of  a  prevalent  trait  in  human  nature. 
"It  is  only  a  few  years  ago,"  says  the  English  an- 
thropologist, Edward  Clodd,  "when  a  royal  per- 
sonage had  an  affection  of  the  knee  which  caused 
her  to  walk  lame,  that  'society'  affected  what 
was  called  the  'Alexandra  limp.'"  As  beautiful 
as  a  limp  is  in  walking,  so  is  the  tremolo  in  singing. 


thp:  education  of  a  music  lover 

People  have  tried  to  defend  the  tremolo  against  the 
strictures  of  the  judicious  on  the  ground  that  as 
'cello  players  employ  it  persistently  it  ought  to  be 
equally  permitted  to  singers.  But  the  vocal  trem- 
olo and  the  quivering  of  a  string  under  the  finger 
of  a  'cellist  are  not  the  same  thing.  The  player 
keeps  his  linger  on  the  same  spot  and  his  vibrato 
is  without  change  of  pitch.  If  he  slid  his  finger 
up  and  down  the  string  while  making  it  tremble, 
the  effect  would  be  similar  to  the  tremolo  of  a 
singer  and  would  be  thoroughly  reprehensible.  A 
vibrato  efifect  may  sometimes  be  employed  by  a 
singer  in  an  intensely  emotional  situation,  but  only 
exceptionally.  A  persistent  "wobble"  is  as  much 
out-of-tune  singing  as  persistent  flatting.  It  is 
even  worse,  for  flatting  has  the  merit  of  consist- 
ency at  least,  and  may  be  due  to  temporary  con- 
ditions for  which  the  singer  is  not  wholly  to  blame. 
A  confirmed  tremolo  is  a  nerveless,  spineless,  de- 
bilitated thing,  a  mark  of  infirmity  and  a  frequent 
forerunner  of  collapse.  It  is  due  to  physical  weak- 
ness or  false  vocal  method.  It  is  never  to  be  ap- 
proved, but  sternly  condemned  or  charitably  pitied. 
The  great  secret  of  a  tone  that  is  always  steady, 
always  pure,  always  true,  is  in  the  management  of 
the  breath.  A  discussion  of  the  proper  method  of 
breathing  does  not  belong  here;  indeed,  the  lis- 
tener should  not  be  reminded  that  breath  is  being 
taken,  except  as  noble  tone  and  masterly  phrasing 
lead  his  curiosity  back  into  the  causes  of  these 
beauties.  There  must  be  no  hitching  up  of  the 
176 


THE  TECHNIQUE   OF  THE  SINGER 

shoulders  when  the  lungs  are  filled,  no  audible  as- 
piration at  the  attack,  no  breathiness  in  the  sound, 
no  escaping  air  from  the  lungs  that  is  not  turned 
into  tone.  The  hearer  must  be  allowed  to  forget 
that  the  singer  is  a  human  being  with  a  limited 
lung  capacity;  the  breath  must  be  taken  secretly, 
and  its  volume  so  sustained  that  the  singing  w^ill 
give  an  impression  of  exhaustless  resources,  like  the 
rising  and  falling  of  the  breeze  on  a  summer's  day. 

Wagner's  maxim,  already  quoted,  that  "  the  tone 
sustained  with  equal  power  is  the  basis  of  all  ex- 
pression," applies  with  as  much  force  to  singing 
as  to  orchestral  playing.  The  fundamentals  of 
the  method  taught  by  the  old  Italian  masters,  says 
Mr.  W.  J.  Henderson,  w^ere  "the  pure  legato  and 
sonorous,  beautiful  tone."  It  was  said  by  a  contem- 
porary of  Rubini  in  his  prime  that  this  great  singer 
"can  so  control  his  breath  as  never  to  expend  more 
of  it  than  is  absolutely  necessary  for  producing  the 
exact  degree  of  sound  he  wishes.  So  adroitly  does 
he  conceal  the  artifice  of  respiration  that  it  is  im- 
possible to  discover  when  his  breath  renew^s  itself, 
inspiration  and  expiration  being  apparently  simul- 
taneous, as  if  one  were  to  fill  a  cup  with  one  hand 
while  emptying  it  with  the  other."  Seek  the  round 
pure  tone  and  the  firm  legato,  it  may  be  said  to 
vocal  students,  and  all  other  graces  shall  be  added 
unto  you.  The  critical  listener,  at  any  rate,  should 
be  content  wath  nothing  less. 

Not  only  should  this  control  of  tone  be  equally 
evident  in  all  parts  of  the  voice  from  the  lowest  note 
177 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  A   MUSIC  LOVER 

to  the  highest,  but  the  quality  of  tone  should  be 
virtually  the  same  throughout  the  singer's  compass. 
This  reads  like  a  counsel  of  perfection;  a  literal 
enforcement  of  it  might  seem  oppressive;  the  critic 
must  be  charitable.  Absolute  similarity  of  sound 
from  one  extreme  of  pitch  to  another  does  not  ex- 
ist in  the  case  of  any  orchestral  instrument,  and 
it  seems  rather  too  much  to  demand  it  literally 
of  the  human  throat.  There  are  singers,  justly 
recognized  as  great,  whose  voices  change  some- 
what in  character  in  different  parts  of  their  range. 
Rarely,  if  ever,  does  nature  give  equality  in  timbre 
and  volume  as  a  primary  endowment.  Somewhere 
in  the  voice  occurs  the  natural  ''break,"  above 
which  the  novice  finds  a  constriction,  as  though 
the  vocal  chords  were  squeezed  together  in  order 
to  resist  all  further  upward  progress.  We  need 
not  enter  into  the  vexed  question  of  "registers," 
over  which  vocal  teachers  have  so  long  disputed 
with  an  unbecoming  acrimony;  it  is  enough  to  say 
that  in  almost  every  voice  there  is  at  least  one  point 
where  the  tones  tend  to  become  weak  and  veiled, 
and  beyond  that  point  to  undergo  a  change  in 
quality.  It  is  the  teacher's  business  to  remove  this 
obstacle  and  so  train  the  tone  delivery  that  the 
broken  instrument  shall  be  mended  and  the  transi- 
tion from  one  part  of  the  voice  to  another  made 
smooth  and  open.  The  perfect  singer  will  not  give 
the  impression  that  there  are  two  or  three  voices  in 
the  throat,  but  only  one.  Where  the  triumph  over 
nature  is  complete  the  effect  may  be  compared  to 
178 


THE  TECHNIQUE   OF  THE  SINGER 

the  playing  of  a  passage  of  two  octaves  or  so  upon 
a  single  violin  string.  More  commonly,  however, 
among  good  singers  the  effect  is  more  analogous  to 
playing  on  all  the  strings  of  a  violin.  There  is  an 
appreciable  difference  between  the  G  and  E  strings, 
but  the  tone  is  always  the  string  tone.  It  is  quite 
possible  that  a  voice  perfectly  uniform  in  quality 
throughout,  if  such  a  voice  could  exist,  would  be 
somewhat  cold  and  monotonous,  lacking  the  power 
of  changing  the  color  for  expressional  needs.  The 
demand,  therefore,  is  especially  that  the  voice  be 
equally  pure  and  under  control  everywhere,  pass- 
ing from  one  region  to  another  without  apparent 
effort,  always  maintaining  suppleness,  steadiness, 
and  accuracy  of  intonation. 

In  good  singing  each  tone  will  begin  exactly  on  the 
proper  pitch  without  any  sliding  or  groping  after 
the  tone,  and  the  tone  ^^•ill  be  round  and  firm  from 
the  very  first  instant.  The  beginning  of  a  tone  is 
called  the  attack.  With  a  good  attack  the  tone 
sounds  as  if  it  had  been  already  formed  in  its  per- 
fection and  were  only  waiting  to  be  set  free.  There 
is  no  suggestion  of  timidity  or  uncertainty.  There 
is  none  of  the  aspirated  or  clucking  sound  at  the 
beginning  of  a  phrase  such  as  one  often  hears  in  im- 
perfect vocalism.  A  good  attack  is  like  the  prompt 
opening  of  an  organ  pipe;  there  are  no  premonitory 
symptoms  of  tone,  no  unmusical  instant,  however 
brief;  the  tone  fully  formed  leaps  into  being,  round, 
buoyant,  pellucid  like  the  drops  that  spring  from  a 
fountain. 

179 


THE  EDUCATION   OF  A   MUSIC  LOVER 

And  as  tones  and  phrases  begin  so  should  they 
end.  The  tone  vanishes  not  as  if  the  breath  were  ex- 
hausted; it  does  not  slide  or  tremble  into  extinction, 
but  the  impulsion  of  breath  is  suddenly  withdrawn 
and  the  tone  instantly  ceases  while  still  in  its  per- 
fection. It  makes  no  difference  in  what  part  of 
the  voice  the  tone  may  be,  upon  what  vowel  or  con- 
sonant it  may  be  engaged,  whether  it  is  loud  or 
soft,  or  what  may  be  the  nature  of  the  expression  — 
the  tone  must  be  perfectly  formed  and  perfectly 
controlled  at  its  inception  and  its  close.  Perfect 
attack  and  finish  are  very  beautiful  to  hear,  and 
they  imply  many  things  that  are  highly  creditable 
to  the  performer. 

With  proper  tone  formation,  perfect  breath  con- 
trol, accurate  attack  and  release,  and  the  easy 
blending  of  the  registers  once  acquired,  the  singer 
should  be  able  to  maintain  accuracy  in  these  par- 
ticulars through  all  the  innumerable  degrees  and 
transitions  of  force  and  speed  upon  which  variety 
and  truth  of  expression  depend.  One  of  the  most 
beautiful  effects  in  music  is  the  "swell,"  the  in- 
crease and  diminishing  of  a  tone  by  imperceptible 
gradations.  It  may  be  compared  to  a  perfect  curve 
in  drawing  —  a  beautiful  thing  in  itself  aside  from 
any  ulterior  purpose  of  expression  or  design.  It 
gives  to  the  voice  and  to  stringed  and  wind  instru- 
ments a  means  of  pleasure  which  instruments  like 
the  piano  and  harp  do  not  afford,  and  which  even 
the  organ  cannot  give  except  by  a  sort  of  subterfuge. 
This  ornament,  as  employed  in  singing,  is  techni- 
i8o 


THE  TECHNIQUE   OF  THE   SINGER 

cally  known  as  the  messa  dl  voce.  It  is  one  of  the 
final  evidences  of  the  singer's  command  of  his  in- 
strument. Let  a  vocalist  begin  a  tone  softly,  with 
a  perfect  attack,  enlarge  it  to  full  volume  so  grad- 
ually that  the  listener  cannot  distinguish  the  succes- 
sive instants  of  increase  because  there  are  none, 
any  more  than  there  are  straight  lines  in  a  circle; 
then  let  the  singer  reduce  the  sound  by  the  same 
inappreciable  gradations  until  it  seems  to  taper  to 
a  point  and  vanish,  one  hardly  knows  when  —  all 
without  the  least  suspicion  of  wavering  or  change 
of  quality  —  and  we  have  one  of  the  most  delectable 
effects  that  the  vocal  art  can  offer.  In  successions 
of  notes  or  phrases  we  may  have  the  same  mastery 
of  nuance,  and  with  it  the  song  attains  life,  freedom, 
warmth,  and  color. 

Agility  and  power  in  a  high  degree  are  demanded 
in  certain  kinds  of  music,  but  as  they  are  not  re- 
quired in  all  they  are  not  to  be  accounted  indis- 
pensable, like  the  qualities  that  have  just  been 
mentioned.  The  vocalists  that  have  been  most 
adored  by  the  great  public,  however,  have  been 
those  that  excelled  in  brilliancy  and  force.  The 
multitude  enjoys  most  whatever  appeals  to  the 
raw  nervous  susceptibility,  and  among  all  the  sen- 
sations that  enrapture  the  senses  and  heat  the  blood 
few  can  compare  with  the  feats  of  agility  for  which 
the  kings  and  queens  of  song  in  the  golden  days  of 
hel  canto  were  celebrated.  A  cool  person  in  a 
theatre  when  a  Catalani,  a  Farinelli,  or  a  Tetraz- 
zini  had  broken  melodv  into  a  dazzling  shower  of 
'i8i 


THE  EDUCATION   OF  A  MUSIC   LOVER 

coruscations  might  be  excused  for  believing  that 
the  audience  had  suddenly  been  transformed  into 
a  horde  of  maniacs.  When  one  looks  at  the  records 
in  print  of  some  of  the  cadenzas  delivered  by  the 
singers  of  the  florid  school,  one  can  faintly  imagine 
the  effect  upon  the  auditory  nerves  when  these 
passages  were  shaken  forth  upon  the  air  by  such  a 
voluptuous  organ  as  that  of  a  Jenny  Lind  or  an 
Adelina  Patti.  Aside  from  the  sensuous  quality  of 
tone,  these  acrobatic  vocal  feats  gratify  the  univer- 
sal love  of  the  marvelous,  exciting  the  admiration 
that  every  one  feels  in  the  presence  of  some  supreme- 
ly skilful  triumph  over  difficulties.  It  is  said  that 
Rossi,  a  famous  singer  of  the  seventeenth  century, 
could  sing  a  chromatic  trill  chain  of  two  octaves  up 
and  down  again,  all  in  one  breath.  Farinelli,  of 
the  eighteenth  century,  vanquished  a  noted  trum- 
pet player  in  a  public  contest,  surpassing  his  rival 
in  power  and  in  rapidity  of  utterance.  Thomas 
Ryan,  in  his  Recollections  of  an  Old  Musician,  tells 
of  a  cadenza  composed  by  Julius  Benedict  for 
Jenny  Lind,  to  be  sung  by  the  "Swedish  Nightin- 
gale" at  the  end  of  a  cavatina.  "The  cadenza 
was  sung  without  accompaniment;  it  covered  two 
pages  of  music  paper,  and  was  written  in  a  style 
suited  to  an  instrumental  concerto.  Toward  the 
end  there  w'as  a  sequence  of  ascending  and  descend- 
ing arpeggios  of  diminished  sevenths,  which  flowed 
into  a  scale  of  trills  from  a  low  note  to  one  of  her 
highest;  then  dwelling  very  long  on  that  note  and 
trilling  on  it,  she  gradually  returned  to  the  theme  of 
182 


THE  TECHNIQUE   OF  THE   SINGER 

the  cavatina,  when  it  was  perceived  that  her  won- 
derfully fine  musical  ear  had  unerringly  guided  her 
through  the  mazes  of  the  long  cadenza  and  brought 
her  to  the  tonic  note  of  the  piece  with  surprising 
correctness  of  intonation." 

It  is  not  wise  wholly  to  disdain  these  marvels  of 
laryngeal  virtuosity  as  though  they  were  of  the 
same  grade  of  value  as  the  feats  of  Japanese  gym- 
nasts. Trills,  runs,  skips,  and  staccatos,  when 
combined  with  varied  tone  colors,  accents,  changes 
in  volume  and  rate  of  speed,  may  have  an  expres- 
sive purpose  as  well  as  a  decorative  charm.  It  is 
a  noticeable  fact,  however,  that  while  the  popular 
love  of  ornamental  singing  seems  to  be  as  strong 
as  ever  and  an  accomplished  exponent  of  "colora- 
ture"  will  still  excite  a  prodigious  furore,  neverthe- 
less the  composers  who  furnish  the  material  for  it 
are  wholly  of  the  past,  and  the  Tetrazzini  type  of 
singer  must  fall  back  upon  the  threadbare  operas 
of  the  Italian  and  French  composers  of  the  early 
part  of  the  nineteenth  century.  Mr.  Henry  T.  Finck 
speaks  of  this  interesting  fact  as  a  "mystery." 
"Why,"  he  asks,  "have  the  composers  of  all  coun- 
tries given  up  writing  florid  music  when  the  public 
at  large  evidently  likes  it  better  than  anything  else, 
demands  it  with  applausive  violence  and  showers 
diamonds  on  the  Pattis  and  Sembrichs,  the  Melbas 
and  Tetrazzinis  who  provide  it?"  He  goes  on  to 
show  that  not  only  the  German  and  French  opera 
composers,  but  also  the  composers  of  Italy,  where 
florid  song  had  its  birth  and  its  richest  bloom,  have 
given  it  up  completely. 

183 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

This  failure  of  the  composers  to  give  the  public 
what  it  craves  does  seem  at  first  thought  a  little 
puzzling,  but  it  is  not  the  first  time  in  the  history  of 
art  that  artists  have  chosen  to  obey  the  higher  laws 
rather  than  seek  notoriety  and  emolument  by  cater- 
ing to  the  whim  of  the  sensation-loving  populace. 
The  composers  of  the  last  half  of  the  nineteenth 
century  have  seen  a  great  light,  and  they  have  nobly 
chosen  to  "follow  the  gleam."  Moreover  there  is 
no  credit  to  a  musician  in  writing  florid  cadenzas. 
Nothing  is  easier.  They  require  no  skill.  Any- 
body who  knows  one  key  from  another  can  do  the 
trick.  And  further,  in  these  colorature  arias  of 
the  old  school  the  composer  is  obliged  to  withdraw 
into  the  shade,  while  the  singer  flourishes  in  the  full 
glare  of  the  lime  light.  No  composer  who  respects 
himself  and  his  art  will  willingly  take  such  a 
humiliating  position  of  subordination.  "The  old 
order  changeth,  yielding  place  to  new."  The  style 
of  music  brought  into  vogue  by  Wagner  and  his 
successors,  driving  out  the  obvious  tunes  and  the 
conventional  vocal  embroideries  of  the  Rossini- 
Bellini-Donizetti  school,  has  lifted  the  composer  to 
his  rightful  station,  and  now,  secure  of  his  position, 
he  refuses  longer  to  sacrifice  himself  to  the  honor 
and  glory  of  the  limber  throated  vocalist.  All  this, 
perhaps,  may  serve  as  a  partial  solution  of  the 
"mystery." 

The  study  of  colorature  song,  in  spite  of  its 
abuses,  is  of  advantage  to  every  singer,  for  the  prac- 
tice of  it  promotes  flexibility  and  control.  A  vocal- 
ist who  is  skilled  in  it  has  a  voice  that  is  under 
184 


THE  TECHNIQUE  OF  THE  SINGER 

subjection  for  all  kinds  of  music,  just  as  a  pianist 
needs  highly  developed  fingers  for  the  sake  of 
equality  of  touch  and  perfect  command  of  shading 
even  where  technical  demands  are  moderate.  The 
singer  should  give  the  impression  of  ease  and 
security  at  all  times,  no  indication  of  effort  should 
appear  no  matter  how  difficult  the  passage,  and  in 
every  phrase  each  note  must  be  as  distinct  as  it  is 
in  the  playing  of  an  Ysaye  or  a  Godowski.  Be- 
sides this,  florid  music  is  not  out  of  date,  nor  will 
it  ever  be,  even  though  composers  have  abandoned 
it.  The  singing  of  Handel  and  Mozart  requires  a 
voice  exceedingly  supple  and  fluent,  and  Handel  and 
Mozart  stand  among  the  immortal  masters  of  song. 
The  listener  will  demand  that  all  music  of  what- 
ever type  shall  be  sung  with  a  clear-cut  delivery  of 
every  note;  that  a  chromatic  scale  shall  be  a  suc- 
cession of  plainly  distinguishable  half-steps  and  not 
a  portamento  slide;  that  a  trill  shall  accord  with 
its  definition  and  not  be  a  flutter  on  one  note,  nor 
fall  under  such  a  blasting  characterization  as  that 
of  a  caustic  critic  of  our  day  when  he  described  a 
vain  attempt  at  this  ornament  as  "a  gargle  which 
the  singer  meant  for  a  trill."  The  practice  of 
colorature  song  is  indispensable  even  to  a  singer 
who  does  not  fully  master  it  and  never  intends  to 
display  it  in  public,  for  it  aids  the  vocalist  in  the 
attainment  of  abilities  which  all  the  styles  require, 
on  the  Emersonian  principle  that  one  must  often 
aim  above  the  mark  to  hit  the  mark. 

Sufficient  lung  power  to  give  the  proper  shading 
185 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

and  manage  the  emotional  climaxes  is  of  course 
expected.  This  is  so  obvious  that  nothing  more 
need  be  said  about  it,  except  to  warn  the  music 
lover  against  the  abuse  of  the  loud  tone  as  well 
as  of  the  high  tone.  This  abuse  has  always  been 
palpable  and  monstrous;  its  proper  parallel  is  found 
in  the  ranting  of  a  fifth  rate  melodramatic  stage 
villain.  A  note  emitted  with  a  shriek  many  de- 
grees higher  than  the  usual  compass  of  the  throat, 
or  a  thunderous  roar  that  shakes  the  chandeliers, 
will  generally  bring  down  the  house  in  a  tumult 
of  applause,  no  matter  how  inappropriate  it  may 
be  or  how  destitute  of  every  beautiful  quality.  A 
dog  will  wag  his  tail  when  his  ears  are  rubbed; 
an  audience  will  howl  with  delight  when  a  tenor 
rushes  to  the  footlights,  spreads  his  arms  and  peals 
out  a  high  C  like  an  engine  whistle;  —  the  differ- 
ence of  intelligence  between  the  canine  and  the 
human  at  this  moment  is  not  great.  The  passion 
for  the  big  voice  and  the  high  voice  regardless  of 
all  other  considerations  is  the  enemy  of  every  fine 
feeling  and  encourages  nothing  but  coarseness,  vul- 
garity, falsehood.  To  singers  addicted  to  such 
claptrap  and  to  music  lovers  who  applaud  it, 
Hamlet's  advice  to  the  players  is  forever  pertinent. 
After  all  is  said  about  voice  and  technique  (and 
it  must  be  admitted  that  pure  tones,  skilfully  con- 
trolled, are  to  be  sought  for  with  zeal  unceasing), 
yet  the  higher  criticism  affirms  that  these  things 
are  tributary  to  expression,  that  singing  is  the 
rendering  of  words  with  a  view  to  reenforcing  the 
i86 


THE  TECHNIQUE  OF  THE  SINGER 

ideas,  sentiments,  and  emotions  set  forth  in  the 
text.  The  music  lover  must  not  be  wholly  car- 
ried away  by  a  ravishing  voice  and  flawless  exe- 
cution; he  must  listen  through  the  tones  to  the 
words  and  must  insist  that  the  singer,  like  the 
actor,  shall  enunciate  distinctly  and  pronounce 
correctly,  and  that  every  detail  of  phrasing,  tone 
color,  shading,  and  tempo  shall  be  guided  by  the 
one  unflagging  determination  to  make  the  style 
of  the  song  suit  the  spirit  and  diction  of  the  verse. 
To  sustain  the  correct  sound  of  the  vowels  and 
the  precise  articulation  of  the  consonants,  and  at 
the  same  time  preserve  the  proper  quality  and 
amount  of  tone,  is  no  doubt  extremely  difficult  in 
many  situations,  and  the  singer  is  constantly  under 
temptation  to  sacrifice  the  former  to  the  latter. 
The  hearer  should  make  due  allowance  for  these 
impediments  in  view  of  the  fact  that  he  is  listening 
to  music  as  well  as  to  words,  that  the  crispness  of 
enunciation  in  ordinary  speech  is  not  possible  in 
singing,  with  its  frequent  prolongation  of  a  vowel 
over  many  notes  and  the  special  stress  laid  upon 
the  musical  vowels  as  compared  with  the  unmu- 
sical consonants.  Taking  these  considerations  into 
account,  the  listener  has  the  right,  nevertheless,  to 
expect  that  within  the  limits  prescribed  by  the 
very  nature  of  the  vocal  art  the  singer  should  re- 
main faithful  to  the  belief  that  song  is  one  way  of 
delivering  words,  and  that  the  rightness  of  his 
work  consists  not  only  in  the  general  conformity 
of  style  to  the  poetic  sentiment,  but  also  in  the 
187 


THE  EDUCATION   OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

observance  of  all  the  refinements  of  vowel  and  con- 
sonant articulation. 

It  is  not  simply  that  the  hearer  has  a  right  to 
know  what  the  singer  is  singing  about.  Purity 
and  truth  in  the  mere  technical  utterance  depend 
much  upon  verbal  accuracy.  "The  sheet  anchor 
of  vocalists,"  says  the  eminent  baritone  David 
Ffrangcon-Davies  in  his  stimulating  book,  The 
Singing  of  the  Future,  "ought  to  be  pure  pronun- 
ciation —  pure  in  regard  to  linguistic  fitness  and 
arising  from  general  culture.  Pure  pronunciation 
(musical,  sustained,  fitting)  once  achieved  insures 
right  tone  production,  and  consequently  right  tone." 
"As  good  actors'  tone  fits  the  word,  so  also  must 
good  singers'  tone  fit  the  word.  The  sung  word 
should  have  the  penetrating  power  which  belongs 
to  the  fine  elocutionist."  "Vocal  efficiency  de- 
pends on  mental  efficiency.  The  character  of  the 
word  and  not  of  the  tone  per  se  is  the  safeguard." 

Furthermore,  true  artistry  in  song  implies  intel- 
lectual culture,  for  a  careless  disregard  of  the  high 
claims  of  language  indicates  lack  of  education 
and  of  genuine  delicacy  of  feeling.  Especially 
must  those  who  sing  in  English  be  heedful  of  this 
law,  for  the  English  language,  with  its  unpar- 
alleled variety  of  vowel  and  diphthongal  sounds 
(twenty  or  so  may  be  distinguished)  and  its  crowd- 
ing of  consonants,  is  the  most  difiicult  of  the 
tongues  to  pronounce  perfecdy  while  maintaining 
a  pure  musical  intonation.  "Two  of  the  greatest 
tests  of  diction,"  says  ]\Ir.  Louis  Arthur  Russell, 
iS8 


THE  TECHNIQUE  OF  THE  SINGER 

"are  in  sustaining  correct  vowel  quality  with  all 
varieties  of  emotional  color,  and  the  ability  to  sus- 
tain a  given  emotional  color  throughout  a  phrase 
including  a  variety  of  consonants.  This  art  is  rarely 
exhibited  in  the  English  language  among  singers 
to-day."  And  in  respect  to  consonants,  Mr.  Rus- 
sell says:  "The  explosive  element,  the  click  or 
puff,  the  breath  rush  or  tick  of  consonant  making,  is 
not  musical,  therefore  it  becomes  the  task  of  the 
singer  and  the  intellectual  talker  to  avoid  all  noise 
in  consonant  emission,  and  to  give  the  articulating 
effect  of  these  mechanical  parts  of  words  without 
destroying  the  legato  flow  to  which  the  vowels 
lend  such  kindly  service." 

There  is  no  more  striking  illustration  of  the  ideal 
sought  by  the  most  advanced  modern  singers,  both 
in  music-drama  and  song,  than  is  found  in  Richard 
Wagner's  eloquent  tribute  to  Ludwig  Schnorr  von 
Carolsfeld,  whose  Tannhlluser  and  Tristan  revealed 
even  to  the  composer  unknown  depths  in  his  own 
creations.  In  this  tribute  to  his  lamented  friend  and 
co-worker  the  master  makes  but  a  single  passing 
allusion  to  his  "mellow,  full,  and  brilliant  voice," 
and  of  tone  formation,  attack,  agility,  and  compass 
there  is  not  a  word.  It  was  the  artist's  supreme 
portrayal  of  "the  torturing  conflict  in  Tannhauser's 
soul"  that  stirred  the  composer's  enthusiasm,  "his 
frenzy  of  humiliation"  in  the  second  act,  "the 
ecstasy  of  humiliation"  in  the  third  act;  the  great- 
ness of  conception  and  vehemence  of  delivery  in 
the  last  act  of  "Tristan  and  Isolde,"  by  virtue  of 
189 


THE  EDUCATION   OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

which,  in  spite  of  the  intricacy  and  intensity  of  the 
orchestral  music,  "all  attention,  all  interest,  was 
centred  in  the  actor,  the  singer,"  the  orchestra  being 
"wholly  effaced  by  the  singer,  or  —  to  put  it  more 
correctly  —  part  and  parcel  of  his  utterance." 

From  Rossi  with  his  chromatic  chain  of  trills, 
and  Farinelli,  driving  the  humiliated  trumpeter 
from  the  field,  to  Ludwig  Schnorr  and  Albert 
Niemann,  intent  only  on  forcing  the  word  and  the 
emotional  situation  into  the  consciousness  of  the 
auditor,  the  ideal  of  the  vocal  art  has  indeed  made 
a  long  and  devious  journey.  In  the  old  days 
passion  and  psychologic  interest  tame  and  con- 
ventionalized, plot  and  text  without  independent 
interest,  contrived  only  to  give  occasion  for  the 
display  of  technical  skill;  in  the  latter  days  the 
most  acute  emotions,  elemental  almost  super- 
human passions,  projected  by  a  Wagner  or  a 
Strauss  with  an  energy  that  bewilders  the  mind 
and  shakes  the  heart.  In  one  case  the  beauty  of 
physical  sound  and  delicate  manipulation,  in  the 
other  the  beauty  of  intellectual  conception,  dra- 
matic accent,  truth  to  the  facts  of  the  human  spirit 
in  its  most  urgent  self-realization. 

Let  the  noblest  features  in  these  two  ideals  be 
combined  and  the  consummate  artist,  godlike 
among  his  fellows,  would  appear.  It  is  not  im- 
possible. Once  and  again  the  world  has  seen  a  near 
approach  to  the  longed-for  paragon.  Wagner  at 
least  never  for  a  moment  believed  that  poetic  ex- 
pression and  refined  vocalism  were  exclusive  of 
190 


THE  TECHNIQUE   OF  THE  SINGER 

one  another,  that  there  is  any  inherent  disharmony 
in  their  natures.  The  principles  and  standards 
of  great  singing  are  now  virtually  agreed  upon,  and 
the  lover  of  music  need  not  go  astray  in  his  judg- 
ments. The  style  may  alter  under  the  varying  exi- 
gencies of  recitative  and  aria,  opera  singing,  church 
singing,  song  singing,  the  hel  canto  of  Handel,  the 
declamation  of  Wagner, —  but  the  universal  laws 
of  the  art  remain,  the  application  of  them  adjust- 
ing itself  to  the  multifarious  shades  of  thought  and 
feeling  that  give  to  poetic  works  their  special  form 
and  spirit.  Appropriateness  of  delivery  to  theme,  to 
musical  and  poetic  character,  must  always  be  the 
amateur's  desire.  Back  of  the  tone,  inspiring,  di- 
recting, coloring  it,  is  the  word.  If  both  demands 
—  technical  perfection  and  truth  of  expression  — 
are  gratified,  then  let  the  hearer  rejoice  —  rejoice 
because  a  noble  artist  has  come  into  the  world, 
and  because  he  is  himself  able  to  appreciate  a 
finished  achievement  of  art. 


191 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  PROBLEM  OF  EXPRESSION:  REPRE- 
SENTATIVE  MUSIC 

Every  thoughtful  lover  of  music  finds  that  both 
before  and  after  the  enjoyment  of  masterpieces  a 
multitude  of  questions  spring  up  in  his  mind,  all 
pointing  toward  the  one  supreme,  inclusive  prob- 
lem of  art.  What  is  the  real  nature  of  music?  he 
will  inquire.  What  is  the  ultimate  motive  that 
inspires  the  creations  of  its  masters?  What  does 
it  mean  to  me  ?  What  part  does  it  play  in  the  full 
life  which  I  live  in  common  with  others?  In  my 
appreciation  of  it,  what  is  the  value  of  the  tech- 
nical features  which  I  am  told  I  ought  to  under- 
stand? Is  the  study  of  form,  harmony,  methods 
of  performance  sufficient  in  itself,  or  is  it  a  prepa- 
ration leading  on  to  higher  issues?  That  music 
is  an  art  of  expression  rather  than  a  temporary 
amusement  for  the  sense  seems  plain  to  all  who 
look  beneath  its  surface,  otherwise  it  never  could 
have  gained  the  place  in  human  affairs  which  the 
ages  have  assigned  it,  ne\er  could  have  won  its 
unshakable  hold  upon  human  aft'ection.  If  music 
is  an  art  of  expression,  what  does  it  express? 
What  are  the  scope  and  limits  of  its  expressive 
192 


THE  PROBLEM  OF  EXPRESSION 

power  ?  What  are  the  means  that  music  possesses 
for  that  utterance  which  reaches  below  the  sense 
perception,  below  the  acquirements  of  the  under- 
standing, transmits  a  message  from  the  soul  of  the 
composer  to  the  soul  of  the  listener,  and  estab- 
lishes a  sympathy  between  any  single  hearer  and 
his  neighbors  in  the  concert  hall?  What  may  we 
look  for  when  we  hear  music  —  shall  we  receive 
definite  communications  of  thought  and  the  awa- 
kening of  the  visual  imagination  as  in  poetry,  or  is 
regulated  sound  restricted  to  the  stirring  of  a 
vague  and  intangible  sense  of  awe  or  delight  like 
that  which  one  feels  in  cathedral  aisles  or  among 
the  parterres  of  artfully  arranged  gardens?  In  a 
word,  has  music  a  meaning?  And  if  so,  is  this 
meaning  imparted  by  direct  action  of  sound  or 
through  association  of  ideas?  These  questions, 
and  many  more,  come  before  the  lover  of  music 
who  wishes  to  derive  the  utmost  value  that  the  art 
is  able  to  afford. 

Some  of  these  queries  can  never  be  fully  an- 
swered; the  attempt  to  discover  the  final  secret  of 
the  power  of  tone  upon  the  emotional  nature  leads 
to  an  insoluble  mystery.  The  fact  that  this  mys- 
tery is  present  in  every  musical  experience  is  one 
cause  of  the  peculiar  fascination.  The  music 
lover  finds,  however,  that  his  excitation  by  music 
is  due  at  times  to  the  direct,  immediate  action 
of  sound,  at  other  times  partly  or  wholly  to 
association  of  ideas.  In  the  first  case  the  word 
"expression"  is  somewhat  misleading,  for  it  neces- 
193 


THE  EDUCATION   OF  A  MUSIC   LOVER 

sarily  carries  the  notion  of  something  to  be  ex- 
pressed, and  that  something  other  than  the  very 
essential  nature  of  the  means  of  expression.  For 
example,  we  say  that  a  piece  of  music  is  beautiful, 
not  that  it  expresses  beauty;  that  it  is,  perhaps, 
rapid,  not  that  it  expresses  speed.  To  be  sure,  we 
may  say  that  a  piece  expresses  cheerfulness,  but 
as  a  multitude  of  compositions,  totally  unlike  in 
melody,  harmony,  and  rhythm,  may  convey  the 
same  notion,  the  mere  fact  of  suggesting  cheerful- 
ness adds  very  little  to  the  value  of  the  music  to 
our  minds.  It  might  be  better  to  apply  Edmund 
Gurney's  term  "impressive"  to  music  of  indeter- 
minate meaning,  rather  than  expressive,  for  if  we 
feel  such  music  to  be  beautiful  and  uplifting,  our 
enjoyment  seems  to  be  brought  down  to  a  lower 
plane  if  we  justify  it  on  the  ground  of  a  state  of 
mind  that  is  transient  and  superficial. 

One  discovers  at  the  very  beginning  of  ac- 
quaintance with  music  that  it  does  not  remain  at 
the  stage  of  vague  suggestion,  but  has  something 
in  its  veins  that  enables  it  to  ally  itself  with  ideas 
that  inhabit  a  world  outside  of  that  purely  abstract 
sphere  to  which  it  is  confined  so  long  as  we  think 
of  it  as  composed  only  of  artificial  combinations  of 
sounds.  A  great  deal  of  music  seems  to  us  not 
merely  impressive  but  expressive,  and  we  often  find 
our  minds  turned  in  definite  directions,  leading  to 
actualities,  when  we  seek  to  explain  the  hold  it 
has  upon  us.  So  strong  is  the  conviction  on  the 
part  of  many  music  lovers  that  no  music  is  without 
194 


THE  PROBLEM  OF  EXPRESSION 

some  background  of  precise  thought  or  feeling,  that 
they  constantly  speak  of  fine  music  or  fine  per- 
formance as  "expressive,"  regardless  of  the  classi- 
fications of  the  aestheticians,  suspecting  that  differ- 
ences among  musical  works  in  this  respect  are 
differences  of  degree  and  not  of  kind,  and  that  even 
the  most  formal  and  abstract  type,  such  as  a  clas- 
sic sonata,  fugue,  or  set  of  variations,  is  stealthily 
trying  to  impart  something  that  its  composer  had 
seen  or  felt,  and  has  a  significance  beyond  that  of 
mere  tonal  decoration. 

In  the  present  chapter  I  am  concerned  with  the 
expressive  power  of  music  as  distinct  from  its  im- 
pressiveness,  seeking  to  indicate  to  the  music  lover 
what  he  may  properly  look  for  besides  mere  agree- 
able tone  patterns;  striving  also  to  assist  him  to 
form  just  judgments  upon  some  of  the  attempts  on 
the  part  of  composers  to  win  for  their  art  a  rep- 
resentative power,  akin  to  that  of  the  arts  which 
convey  exact  ideas  and  deal  with  accepted  symbols 
and  concrete  imagery.  I  shall  try  to  remove  cer- 
tain misapprehensions  to  which  many  casual  hearers 
of  music  are  subject,  showing  what  the  composers 
who  are  identified  wuth  the  various  types  of  music 
really  attempt  to  do,  and  suggesting  the  proper 
manner  of  applying  those  standards  of  apprecia- 
tion by  means  of  which  the  different  degrees  and 
methods  of  musical  expression  may  be  kept  dis- 
tinct in  the  listener's  mind. 

In  order  to  clear  the  ground  a  few  preliminary 
explanations  are  necessary. 

^95 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

The  world  of  musical  composition  is  divided  into 
two  main  departments,  viz.,  vocal  music  and  in- 
strumental music.  Vocal  works  are  themselves 
commonly  composed  of  two  elements,  the  voice 
part  and  the  accompaniment.  In  the  former  the 
apparatus  that  produces  the  tone  is  not  used  for 
that  purpose  only,  but  also  for  the  communication  of 
definite  thought.  The  ideas  set  forth  by  the  words 
control  the  form  and  style  of  the  music,  and  the 
tones,  therefore,  do  not  exist  merely  for  giving 
pleasure  to  the  ear,  but  also  for  the  sake  of  bringing 
the  mind  of  the  hearer  into  accord  with  certain 
clearly  realized  conceptions.  The  music  becomes 
not  merely  impressive,  but  representative  or  illus- 
trative. 

Instrumental  works  may  be  divided  into  two 
general  classes:  first,  those  which  are  concerned 
with  the  musical  imagination  solely,  which  contain 
no  indication  of  any  connection  in  the  composer's 
mind  with  an  experience  or  fancy  that  is  derived 
from  the  external  world,  requiring  of  the  hearer 
no  knowledge  of  any  fact,  physical  or  metaphysical, 
beyond  the  rhythms,  combinations,  and  tone  colors 
of  the  musical  piece  itself.  The  listener  may 
interpret  such  music  in  terms  of  concrete  imagery 
if  his  bent  of  mind  inclines  him  that  way,  —  he  may 
see  dancing  peasants  in  a  Mozart  rondo  or  a  kneel- 
ing worshipper  in  a  Beethoven  adagio  —  but  this  is 
his  own  affair,  for  the  composer  gives  him  no  hint 
that  tends  to  turn  his  thought  away  from  the  con- 
templation of  pure  musical  beauty.  Works  of  this 
196 


THE  PROBLEM   OF  EXPRESSION 

character  have  no  precise  titles,  —  only  such  labels 
as  serve  to  indicate  form,  tempo,  or  general  charac- 
ter, such  as  sonata,  fugue,  prelude,  theme  and  va- 
riations, andante,  presto,  scherzo,  etude,  nocturne, 
fantaisie,  reverie,  caprice,  and  the  like.  Any  one 
of  these  designations  would  apply  to  a  large  num- 
ber of  pieces  of  quite  dissimilar  style.  Such  music 
is  called  "abstract"  or  "absolute"  music. 

The  other  class  of  instrumental  compositions  is 
known  as  "representative,"  "illustrative,"  or  "pro- 
gram" music.  The  composer  puts  at  the  head 
of  his  work  a  title  or  description  which  applies 
directly  to  this  particular  piece  and  could  belong 
to  no  other.  It  associates  the  music  at  once 
with  a  definite  conception  that  can  be  told  in 
words;  it  arouses  the  image  making  faculty  in 
the  mind  of  the  listener;  it  invites  him  to  receive 
the  music  not  as  an  emissary  from  a  world  of 
abstraction  known  only  to  the  musical  conscious- 
ness, but  as  an  ally  of  poetic  ideas,  as  a  work 
whose  peculiar  character  is  drawn  from  an  experi- 
ence preliminary  to  it,  and  derives  a  considerable 
part  of  its  value  from  the  clearness  with  which  it 
illustrates  an  idea  that  has  in  itself  an  independent 
interest.  The  composer  chooses  a  character,  scene, 
or  story  from  history,  myth,  or  poetry,  or  he  recalls 
a  personal  observation  of  nature  or  human  life, 
or  perhaps  invents  a  tale  or  picture  for  himself, — 
then  calling  upon  his  powers  of  musical  creation 
he  writes  a  work  which  will  be  molded  and  col- 
ored by  the  literary  or  pictorial  antecedent.  Some- 
197 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

times,  as  Schumann  tells  us,  the  music,  begun  with- 
out any  such  object  in  view,  suggests  a  train  of 
thought  or  imagery  to  the  composer,  the  mental 
eye,  gradually  awakened,  holds  fast  to  certain 
outlines  amid  the  sounds,  and  the  phrases  condense 
and  shape  themselves  under  this  new  influence. 
Examples  of  this  tendency  could  be  adduced  by 
the  hundreds,  —  overtures  to  modern  operas;  sym- 
phonic poems,  such  as  Liszt's  "Tasso,"  Strauss's 
"Death  and  Glorification";  program  sympho- 
nies, such  as  Beethoven's  "Pastoral"  and  Raflf's 
"Leonore";  piano  "character  pieces,"  such  as 
Schumann's  "Carnaval,"  Liszt's  "Years  of  Pil- 
grimage," MacDowell's  "Sea  Pieces"  and  "Wood- 
land Sketches."  It  is  evident  that  here  is  a  close 
analogy  to  vocal  music.  The  difference  is  that  no 
words  are  heard  during  the  progress  of  the  music; 
it  is  a  sort  of  inarticulate  song  or  drama;  the 
subject  once  announced  in  the  title  or  "program" 
retreats  into  the  background  of  the  listener's  con- 
sciousness, only  to  be  evoked  in  a  shadowy  way  as 
he  discovers  in  the  tone  color  and  rhythms  a 
mysterious  something  that  guides  his  fantasy  as 
well  as  delights  his  ear. 

In  the  attempt  to  determine  the  nature  and  the 
extent  of  the  expressive  power  of  music,  we  feel  the 
need  of  drawing  comparisons  between  music  and 
the  other  arts,  surveying  her  boundaries  and  theirs, 
discovering  where  these  boundaries  diverge  and 
where  they  coincide  or  overlap.  Does  expression 
in  music,  we  ask,  signify  the  same  as  expression  in 
198 


THE  PROBLEM  OF  EXPRESSION 

poetry,  or  does  the  word  involve  a  special  and  dis- 
tinctive connotation  of  its  own?  In  order  that 
speech  and  music  may  combine  in  mutual  support 
they  must  have  some  element  in  common.  In  order 
that  music  may  appear  as  appropriate  to  text  or 
title  in  song,  opera,  or  symphonic  poem  it  must  at 
least  be  able  in  itself  to  turn  our  mind  in  a  definite 
direction,  and  the  current  of  feeling  that  is  set  in 
motion  by  the  words  find  itself  drawn  by  a  subtle 
affinity  to  the  feeling  aroused  by  the  music. 

Writers  on  aesthetics  love  to  separate  the  arts 
into  two  classes,  viz.,  arts  of  presentation  and  arts 
of  representation.  The  second  category  includes 
poetry,  sculpture,  and  painting,  —  representative  by 
reason  of  the  fact  that  the  subject  matter  with 
which  they  deal  exists  before  the  work  of  art  comes 
into  being,  and  is  susceptible  to  an  indefinite  num- 
ber of  forms  and  modes  of  treatment.  Poetry  may 
have  for  its  subject  a  state  of  mind  or  an  outward 
event  or  scene.  Any  kind  of  visible  object,  or  an 
imaginary  object  having  no  counterpart  in  nature 
but  composed  of  forms  that  have  an  actual  exist- 
ence in  other  relations  (such  as  an  angel  or  a 
centaur),  may  be  the  subject  of  a  statue  or  a  picture. 
In  representative  art,  in  other  words,  the  idea  and 
the  form  are  not  completely  identical.  These  arts, 
even  poetry,  have  also  been  called  arts  of  imitation, 
because  they  reproduce  in  new  guises  and  rela- 
tions that  which  has  already  been  the  object  of 
observation  or  experience. 

In  the  presentative  arts,  on  the  other  hand,  in- 
199 


THE  EDUCATION   OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

eluding  music,  architecture,  and  the  various  artistic 
crafts  (such  as  pottery,  metal  work,  wood  and  ivory 
carving,  textiles,  etc.)  the  representative  or  imitative 
element  is  either  absent  or  is  reduced  to  such  sub- 
ordination that  the  beholder  is  but  casually  re- 
minded of  anything  that  has  been  the  object  of  a 
previous  experience.  The  idea,  generally  speaking, 
is  contained  in  the  form,  virtually  identical  with  it, 
and  has  no  existence  separate  from  the  artist's  con- 
ception. The  forms  are  abstract,  proportional  ar- 
rangements of  lines,  masses,  colors,  or  tones;  the 
beauty  is  in  the  pattern  or  design  apart  from  those 
resemblances  that  would  move  us  to  demand  truth 
to  nature  as  a  fundamental  condition  of  approval. 
This  statement  must,  of  course,  be  qualified;  a 
representative  element  often  exists,  there  is  a  bor- 
rowing from  nature;  leaves  and  flowers  may 
afford  patterns  for  ornamental  work  in  cornice  and 
vase  designs, —  even  animal  and  human  forms  may 
be  so  used;  music  sometimes  admits  imitations 
or  at  least  obvious  suggestions  of  natural  sounds. 
But  in  all  these  cases  truth  to  nature  is  subservient 
to  a  decorative  purpose.  A  decoration  may  be  de- 
fined as  a  form  of  artistic  contrivance  which  has 
its  interest  in  itself,  apart  from  any  object  depicted 
or  thought  conveyed.  Architecture,  music,  and 
the  artistic  crafts  may  be  called  arts  of  decoration, 
as  distinct  from  the  arts  that  teach  or  inform  as 
well  as  please. 

This  division  of  the  arts  into  presentative  and 
representative    has,   however,   little   value  besides 
200 


THE  PROBLEM  OF   EXPRESSION 

convenience  of  classification;  in  a  deeper  view  of 
the  case  the  distinction  everywhere  breaks  down. 
They  are  all  presentative  as  well  as  representative, 
impressive  as  well  as  expressive,  for  they  exist 
primarily  not  to  give  instruction  or  to  reproduce 
nature,  but  to  give  pleasure.  They  offer  them- 
selves frankly  to  the  senses;  they  make  us  glad,  not 
because  we  have  received  an  addition  to  our  store 
of  information,  but  because  they  have  warmed  and 
fed  our  emotional  nature,  awakened  a  conscious- 
ness of  a  purer  ideal,  stimulated  a  keener  sym- 
pathy by  the  communication  of  spirit  to  spirit. 
Poetry,  painting,  and  sculpture  may  indeed  be  em- 
ployed for  the  purpose  of  conveying  scientific  or 
moral  truth, —  other  things  being  equal,  the  higher 
the  truth  the  higher  the  worth  of  the  work  of  art. 
But  just  at  the  moment  when  this  definite  instruc- 
tive or  homiletic  purpose  becomes  the  apparent 
aim  of  the  work,  the  appeal  to  the  cTsthetic  sense 
becoming  merely  incidental,  then  the  very  element 
that  constitutes  art  tends  to  withdraw  from  the  work 
or  from  the  receiver's  consciousness.  Never  ought 
the  decorative  principle  to  be  ignored.  The  out- 
lines, modelling  and  grouping  in  sculpture,  the 
arrangement  of  lines,  colors,  lights,  and  shadows 
in  a  painting,  the  rhythm,  metre,  and  mellifluous 
disposition  of  vowels  and  consonants  in  verse  — 
these  decorative  features  are  essential  even  if  we 
refuse  to  agree  with  the  advocates  of  art  for  art's 
sake  in  considering  them  all-sufficient.  The  en- 
lightened connoisseur  looks  at  once  for  sculptural 

20I 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

qualities,  pictorial  qualities,  or  poetic  qualities. 
Says  Russell  Sturgis:  "What  has  the  sculptor  to 
say  so  important  as  this,  —  come  and  see  this  new 
combination  of  masses  beautifully  composed,  made 
up  of  details  beautifully  modelled?"  The  strong- 
est motive  can  never  commend  a  picture  to  a  dis- 
cerning eye  if  it  is  not  beautifully  wrought  in  com- 
position, drawing,  tone,  and  harmony  of  tints  and 
shades.  A  fine  picture  is  always  a  fine  pattern. 
A  painter  will  make  a  portrait  not  simply  for  ac- 
curacy of  likeness,  but  also  for  satisfaction  of  the 
art  sense;  he  will  so  contrive  composition,  adjust 
pose,  and  arrange  shades  and  colors  that  the  picture 
will  give  pleasure  to  a  connoisseur  who  knows  not 
the  name  or  station  of  the  sitter.  A  landscape  by 
Turner  may  not  give  a  correct  topographical  rep- 
resentation of  any  place  on  earth.  The  Aphro- 
dite of  Melos  is  perhaps  not  an  Aphrodite  at  all; 
but  it  does  not  matter, —  nameless  and  with  the 
arms  that  might  have  revealed  her  identity  forever 
lost,  she  is  no  less  the  object  of  the  world's  un- 
wavering homage.  In  all  these  instances  there  is 
indeed  truth, —  it  is  truth  that  gives  them  their 
ultimate  validity;  but  it  is  not  scientific  truth  or 
in  the  ordinary  use  of  the  word  ethical  truth;  it  is 
general,  not  particular  truth,  a  truth  that  is  iden- 
tified with  beauty  and  finds  its  warrant  in  the 
pleasure  of  the  sense,  and  beyond  that  in  the  con- 
sciousness that  through  these  beautiful  forms  we 
come  into  vital  relations  with  a  mystic  reality  that 
survives  all  change. 

202 


THE  PROBLEM  OF  EXPRESSION 

This  same  element,  that  stirs  the  emotion  by 
immediate  action  of  the  sense  without  the  aid  of 
the  defining  power  of  the  understanding,  is  found 
even  in  poetry,  and  must  be  reckoned  with  if  one 
would  know  the  secret  of  the  spell  that  is  woven 
by  metric  accents  and  the  selected  harmonies  of 
words.  The  writer  chooses  his  words  not  merely 
as  symbols  of  ideas,  but  also  for  the  beauty  of 
sound  and  rhythmic  vibration  obtained  by  skilful 
adjustments  of  accents,  metrical  groups,  rhymes, 
assonance  of  vowels  and  consonants.  These 
musical  effects,  as  they  may  properly  be  called, 
are  not  only  employed  for  the  sake  of  the  charm 
of  lilting  cadence  and  artful  modulation  of  sound, 
but  they  possess  the  expressive  quality  of  music, 
the  especial  mood  which  the  poet  desires  to 
arouse  being  in  no  slight  degree  dependent  upon 
his  use  of  the  metrical  and  verbal  devices  which 
suggest  various  degrees  of  motion  and  force.  Ev- 
ery poet  considers  carefully  the  need  of  a  corre- 
spondence between  the  form  of  the  verse  and  the 
thought  and  imagery,  an  ecstatic  spring  song  re- 
quiring one  kind  of  metre,  an  elegy  another,  a 
battle  piece  another,  and  so  on.  Many  of  the 
world's  famous  poems  are  not  remarkable  for 
originality  or  depth  of  thought,  but  endure  by 
virtue  of  a  certain  haunting  sweetness  that  is  not 
in  the  imagery  alone,  but  equally  in  their  melody. 

The  element  to  which  I  allude  is  that  which  van- 
ishes when  the  Mneid  or  the  Antigone  is  translated 
into  English  prose;  it  is  found  in  "the  surge  and 
203 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

thunder  of  the  Odyssey,"  in  the  voluptuous  swell  of 
Swinburne  or  Victor  Hugo;  it  is  the  dying  fall 
that  comes  soothingly  upon  the  senses  in  an  ode 
of  Keats.  It  is  the  quality  that  becomes  faint  even 
to  vanishing  when  verse  is  read  in  silence.  There 
is  no  need  to  say,  of  course,  that  poetry  is  vastly 
more  than  this,  that  a  man  may  be  a  master  of 
verbal  music  and  after  all  have  little  that  is  worth 
saying.  Poetry  is,  no  doubt,  less  dependent  than 
any  other  art  upon  the  sensuous  and  formal  ele- 
ments, but  how  much  sound  and  form  have  to  do 
even  with  the  meaning  itself  any  one  can  discover 
if  he  will  take  any  great  piece  of  verse,  say  a  son- 
net by  Milton  or  Wordsworth,  change  the  order  of 
the  words,  substitute  synonyms,  break  up  the 
rhythms  into  unrhythmical  phrases,  and  then  see 
how  much  even  of  the  sense  is  left.  Such  an 
experiment  will  afford  an  important  lesson  in  the 
primer  of  poetry,  yes,  in  the  primer  of  art. 

Still  less  in  the  other  arts  can  the  spiritual  message 
be  separated  from  the  form.  There  is  an  utterance 
that  is  not  the  language  of  speech;  it  is  incapable 
even  of  translation  into  words.  It  is  found,  as  we 
have  noticed,  in  the  artful  tracing  of  lines,  grada- 
tions, and  colors  in  painting,  setting  up  a  sort  of 
rhythmical  movement  in  consciousness  as  the  eye 
passes  from  one  point  to  another.  It  is  found  in 
the  proportioned  masses  and  decorative  patterns 
of  architecture,  in  the  lines  and  bosses  of  sculpture, 
in  the  buoyant  measured  evolutions  of  the  dance, 
in  the  mellow  sound  of  a  voice,  in  the  molding  of 
204 


THE   PROBLEM  OF  EXPRESSION 

a  vase,  or  the  opulent  colors  of  a  Persian  rug.  It 
is  a  communication  more  ancient  than  speech,  and 
it  is  intuitively  understood  by  all  who  have  attained 
a  truly  self-conscious  life.  It  is  the  business  of  the 
art  lover  to  clear  his  senses  and  cultivate  in  himself 
that  capacity  which  responds  to  the  touch  of  beauty 
in  whatever  guise  of  shape  or  color  or  sound.  The 
common  man,  being  confined  to  language  for  the 
conveyance  of  his  mental  states,  finds  it  difBcult 
to  realize  that  there  are  other  very  potent  means 
of  expression  —  that  there  are  pictorial,  sculptural, 
and  musical  ideas  as  w^ell  as  verbal  ideas.  The 
appreciation  of  art  expands  as  soon  as  one  perceives 
that  there  are  broad  regions  of  spiritual  experience 
wdiich  words  cannot  traverse,  and  that  the  other 
arts  find  spheres  of  action  beyond  the  line  where 
language  ends.  We  must,  therefore,  study  their 
mode  of  utterance  —  their  technique,  in  a  word, 
for  "the  sensuous  material  of  each  art,"  to  employ 
Walter  Pater's  classic  statement,  "brings  with  it  a 
special  phase  or  quality  of  beauty,  untranslatable 
into  the  forms  of  any  other,  an  order  of  impressions 
distinct  in  kind.  These  impressions  have  this  in 
common,  however,  that  they  give  pleasure  to  the 
senses  of  sight  or  hearing;  and  this  beauty  is  an 
end  and  not  a  means  —  adding  nothing,  it  may  be, 
to  that  experience  and  efficiency  which  the  or- 
dinary mechanical  duties  of  the  day  require,  but 
giving  us  consciousness  of  a  fuller,  more  perfect 
life,  in  which  our  separate  existence  is  for  the 
moment  merged." 

205 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

It  is  in  view  of  this  attribute  of  all  fine  art  which 
I  have  endeavored  to  describe  that  Walter  Pater, 
in  his  well  known  essay  already  cited,  declares  that 
music  "is  the  true  type  and  measure  of  perfected 
art,"  because  "music  presents  no  words,  no  mat- 
ter of  sentiment  or  thought  separable  from  the 
special  form  in  which  it  is  conveyed  to  us."  All 
art,  Pater  goes  on  to  say,  is  constantly  laboring  that 
the  form,  the  mode  of  handling,  "should  become  an 
end  in  itself,  should  penetrate  every  part  of  the 
matter."  "Art  is  always  striving  to  be  indepen- 
dent of  the  mere  intelligence,  to  become  a  matter 
of  pure  perception,  to  get  rid  of  its  responsibility 
to  its  subject  or  material."  "It  is  the  art  of  music 
which  most  completely  realizes  this  artistic  ideal, 
this  perfect  identification  of  form  and  matter.  In 
its  ideal,  consummate  moments,  the  -end  is  not 
distinct  from  the  means,  the  form  from  the  matter, 
the  subject  from  the  expression;  they  inhere  in 
and  completely  saturate  each  other;  and  to  it, 
therefore,  to  the  condition  of  its  perfect  moments, 
all  the  arts  may  be  supposed  constantly  to  tend 
and  aspire.  .  .  .  Therefore,  although  each  art  has 
its  incommunicable  element,  its  untranslatable  or- 
der of  impressions,  its  unique  mode  of  reaching 
the  'imaginative  reason,'  yet  the  arts  may  be  rep- 
resented as  continually  struggling  after  the  law  or 
principle  of  music,  to  a  condition  which  music  alone 
completely  realizes." 

That  such  a  tendency  as  Pater  here  declares  is 
found  in  all  art  may  be  disputed  —  his  statement 
206 


THE  PROBLEM   OF  EXPRESSION 

is  too  sweeping.  That  the  "idea"  is  not  separable 
from  the  special  form  it  has  taken  is  to  a  certain 
extent  true  of  all  art  —  the  very  definition  of  art 
is  involved  in  this  —  but  the  fusion  is  more  com- 
plete in  some  instances  than  in  others.  There  are 
works  of  sculpture  and  painting  which  appeal 
"directly  to  the  roots  of  emotion  and  sensation," 
and  stir  the  mind  in  w^ays  which  words  are  quite 
unable  to  explain.  Take,  for  example,  Michel- 
angelo's recumbent  figures  upon  the  Medici  tombs, 
and  consider  the  number  of  wholly  unsatisfactory 
interpretations  that  have  been  drawn  from  them  — 
unsatisfactory  not  because  the  sculptor  expressed 
nothing  in  the  statues,  but  because  he  expressed 
so  much,  expressed  ideas  so  profound  that  language 
fails  to  encompass  them.  It  was  not  affectation 
that  impelled  John  Addington  Symonds,  in  pres- 
ence of  these  grand  and  mysterious  shapes,  to  call 
up  phrases  of  Beethoven.  For  it  is  only  music  that 
has  the  power  of  evoking  ideas  so  mighty  and  ex- 
tended as  those  which  Michelangelo's  oppressed 
giants  so  dimly  body  forth.  Sculpture  and  music 
are  the  arts  most  adequate  to  render  the  one  uni- 
versal theme  of  all  art,  which  is  the  striving  of  the 
soul  for  release  from  all  that  restricts  its  powers. 

Although  Pater's  assertion  in  regard  to  art  in 
general  needs  to  be  qualified  and  limited,  his  state- 
ment in  regard  to  the  nature  of  music,  that  the 
subject  is  not  distinct  from  the  expression,  may  be 
accepted.  Change  a  note  in  a  passage  and  the 
idea  is  changed,  for  the  passage  has  no  meaning 
207 


THE  EDUCATION   OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

apart  from  the  particular  note  successions  that  com- 
pose it.  Neither  can  music  define  or  describe  or 
personify.  Music  is  sometimes  called  a  language, 
but  it  is  not  a  language.  Words  are  artificial 
counters  which  have  been  agreed  upon  by  all  mem- 
bers of  any  nation  or  tribe  as  standing  for  certain 
objects  or  mental  concepts.  But  there  are  no 
tones  or  groups  of  tones  which  have  been  adopted 
as  symbols  of  particular  objects  of  perception  or 
thought.  I  may  say,  for  instance:  The  white  birch 
tree  is  putting  forth  green  leaves.  The  verb,  the 
nouns,  and  the  adjectives  are  conventional  collo- 
cations of  sounds  and  letters  applied  by  common 
consent  to  certain  objects  or  processes.  But  there 
are  no  chords  or  musical  phrases  that  have  been 
fixed  upon  to  convey  the  notion  of  tree,  leaf,  growth, 
whiteness,  or  greenness.  A  composer  may  have  a 
budding  birch  tree  in  his  mind  when  he  writes  a 
piece  of  music,  and  his  composition  will  have 
delicacy,  lightness,  grace;  but  the  listener  may  be 
reminded  of  a  very  different  object,  or  of  no  object 
at  all. 

In  comparing  music  with  poetry,  John  Addington 
Symonds  writes:  "The  sphere  of  music  is  in  sen- 
suous perception;  the  sphere  of  poetry  is  in  intel- 
ligence. Music,  dealing  with  pure  sound,  must 
always  be  vaguer  in  significance  than  poetry,  which 
deals  with  words.  We  cannot  fail  to  understand 
what  words  are  intended  to  convey;  we  may  very 
easily  interpret  in  a  hundred  diiTerent  ways  the 
message  of  sound.  .  .  .  The  exact  value  of  a 
208 


THE  PROBLEM   OF  EXPRESSION 

counter  is  better  understood  when  it  is  a  word 
than  when  it  is  a  chord,  because  all  that  a  word 
conveys  has  already  become  a  thought,  while  all 
that  musical  sounds  convey  remains  within  the 
region  of  emotion  which  has  not  been  intellectual- 
ized.  Poetry  touches  emotion  through  the  think- 
ing faculty.  If  music  reaches  the  thinking  faculty 
at  all,  it  is  through  fibres  of  emotion.  But  emotion, 
when  it  has  become  thought,  has  already  lost  a 
portion  of  its  force,  and  has  taken  to  itself  a  some- 
thing alien  to  its  nature.  Therefore  the  message 
of  music  can  never  rightly  be  translated  into 
words."  Mr.  Birge  Harrison  compares  music  to 
color  in  the  art  of  painting.  "Both  are  sensuous 
and  passional,  playing  directly  upon  the  emotions 
and  producing  their  effects  by  some  mysterious 
appeal  to  the  subconscious,  whose  ways  have  as 
yet  eluded  us.  Both,  in  their  highest  expression, 
come  nearer  to  the  perfect  ideal  of  beauty  as  felt 
and  understood  by  humanity  than  any  other  form 
of  art.  Finally,  both  are  stimulating  and  men- 
tally suggestive,  while  attempting  no  direct  intel- 
lectual expression." 

In  the  interest  of  the  intelligent  appreciation  of 
music,  it  is  important  that  these  distinctions  should 
be  anchored  in  our  minds  lest  the  true  beauty  and 
meaning  of  music  escape  us.  Language  is  defi- 
nition and  limitation;  music  by  itself  alone  does 
not  limit  or  explain;  when  acted  upon  by  pure 
tone  we  are  transported  into  a  region  without 
boundaries.  For  the  moment  that  world  is  real, 
209 


THE  EDUCATION   OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

but  it  has  not  the  reality  of  previous  non- musical 
experience. 

All  this  is  true,  and  yet  it  is  also  true  that  com- 
posers and  music  lovers  have  not  been  satisfied 
with  this  vague  and  generalized  impression  which 
cold  analysis  would  at  first  sight  seem  to  prove  is 
music's  only  province.  Music  has  always  been 
straining  at  its  tether,  striving  to  break  away  from 
its  bondage  and  enlarge  its  field  of  action.  A 
marked  trait  in  music  is  the  effort  which  Pater 
notes  in  passing  as  characteristic  of  all  art  —  an 
endeavor  to  pass  into  the  condition  of  some  other 
mode  of  utterance  and  assume  prerogatives  that 
belong  more  strictly  to  the  heritage  of  its  sister 
arts.  The  art  which  music  most  persistently  strug- 
gles to  supplant,  or  else  to  bring  into  an  alliance 
for  mutual  advantage,  is  the  art  of  language. 
Hence  the  prevalence  of  "program"  or  "repre- 
sentative" music  in  later  days,  and  the  union  of 
verse  and  tone  in  lyric  and  dramatic  song  from  the 
very  beginning  of  speech  and  melody. 

The  alliance  of  words  and  music  has  been  con- 
stant through  the  greater  part  of  human  history. 
Abstract  instrumental  music,  in  a  state  so  devel- 
oped and  specialized  that  it  can  be  dignified  with 
the  title  of  fine  art,  belongs  only  to  the  last  three 
centuries.  It  had  its  period  of  infancy,  of  gradual 
awakening  to  self-consciousness  in  the  seventeenth 
century,  of  independent  vigor  and  balance  of 
faculty  in  the  epoch  of  the  Bachs,  Haydn,  and 
Mozart   in   the   eighteenth   century,   of   complete 

210 


THE  PROBLEM  OF  EXPRESSION 

adaptability  of  form  to  the  needs  of  expression  in 
the  masters  of  the  nineteenth  century,  beginning 
with  Beethoven.  In  the  first  two  of  these  epochs, 
when  independent  instrumental  music  was  pass- 
ing, with  many  growing  pains,  from  feebleness 
into  full  self-possession,  tone  wedded  to  words  in 
opera,  oratorio,  and  church  music  was  exhibiting, 
under  the  hands  of  Gluck,  Mozart,  Handel,  and 
Sebastian  Bach,  the  enormous  power  of  expression 
it  contains  when  free  to  take  its  character  from 
the  suggestion  of  precise  thought  and  definite  situ- 
ations. Taught  by  the  success  of  these  endeavors, 
composers  grew  more  and  more  inclined  to  carry 
over  the  quality  of  direct  characteristic  expression 
to  abstract  instrumental  music,  in  which  there  was 
to  be  found  a  freedom  and  variety  of  style  that 
could  not  exist  in  the  human  voice  alone  on  account 
of  its  physical  limitations.  This  effort  led  to  the 
rupture  of  the  old  strict  instrumental  forms  of 
sonata,  fugue,  and  rondo,  as  in  Beethoven's  last 
quartets  and  sonatas,  where  the  instruments  seem 
at  times  almost  to  usurp  the  faculty  of  speech. 
The  next  step  (not  in  chronological  order  neces- 
sarily, but  as  an  evolutionary  stage)  was  program 
or  representative  music,  where  new  forms  and 
treatment  appeared  as  required  by  conceptions  to 
which  the  composer  gave  his  hearers  a  clew  in 
title,  program,  motto,  or  allusion.  Every  piece 
of  representative  music,  therefore,  is  in  greater  or 
less  dimensions  a  "song  without  words,"  a  voice- 
less lyric,  epic,  or  drama,  claiming  to  employ  in  an 

211 


THE  EDUCATION   OF  A   MUSIC  LOVER 

independent  sphere  the  special  powers  of  expres- 
sion which  music  had  demonstrated  while  still  in 
the  leading-strings  of  text  and  stage  action. 

Representative  music  is  by  no  means  a  phenom- 
enon peculiar  to  the  nineteenth  century,  but  appears 
in  many  crude  productions  of  the  youthful  and 
infantile  periods.  But  in  the  nineteenth  century 
means  of  emotional  utterance  before  unsuspected 
have  been  disclosed  in  the  natural  progress  from 
strictness  to  freedom  in  form,  and  in  the  perfection 
of  instruments;  and  so  far  has  the  expressive 
power  of  tones  been  carried  that  music  at  times 
seems  on  the  way  to  the  invention  of  symbols  that 
will  come  near  to  appropriating  some  of  the  pre- 
rogatives of  language. 

In  this  aspect  of  the  situation  the  music  lover 
finds  a  problem  much  more  profound  than  that  of 
training  his  faculties  of  observation  in  the  tracing 
of  harmonies,  rhythms,  and  forms.  This  prelim- 
inary exercise  in  the  appreciation  of  form  is  neces- 
sary, as  I  have  tried  to  show,  but  it  is  only  pre- 
liminary. No  thinking  mind  will  remain  content 
with  the  mere  admiration  of  skill  in  fashioning 
tone  patterns  of  intricate  device,  or  the  mechanical 
dexterity  of  a  pianist  or  the  pyrotechnics  of  a  col- 
orature  singer.  The  emotion  must  be  aroused, 
and  in  works  of  human  contrivance  it  is  only 
emotion  that  can  beget  emotion.  The  composer 
must  have  felt  something,  —  what  did  he  feel  ? 
There  is  a  man  behind  the  work  and  he  is  imparting 
something  of  himself,  —  what  is  that  something? 

212 


THE  PROBLEM  OF  EXPRESSION 

Works  of  musical  art  are  not  put  together  in  ac- 
cordance with  mathematical  formulas,  —  they  come 
from  life  and  they  share  the  stirring  unexpectedness 
of  life.  Music  lovers  have  never  been  content  with 
a  pleasure  that  depends  upon  the  merely  decora- 
tive function  of  music,  and  music,  as  we  have 
seen,  is  ever  struggling  to  liberate  itself  from  the 
confinement  that  seems  inherent  in  its  very  mate- 
rial. Music  is  a  mighty  intensifier  of  emotions  and 
moods;  moreover  it  produces  in  the  mind  such  a 
state  of  tremulous  expectancy  that  it  becomes  eager 
to  move  in  definite  directions,  just  as  when  acted 
upon  by  words  or  external  incitements  of  any  kind. 
Liturgies,  dramatic,  epic,  and  lyric  poetry  have 
always  joined  hands  with  music  because  in  this 
union  there  was  an  added  strength.  The  most 
universal  and  powerful  interests  —  religion,  patriot- 
ism, and  the  love  of  the  sexes  —  have  always  sought 
music  as  a  reenforcement  of  their  appeals.  All  this 
could  hardly  be  true  if  there  were  no  correspond- 
ence between  music  and  the  other  means  of  expres- 
sion. One  would  not  associate  together  a  piece  of 
music  and  a  bit  of  purely  decorative  work  —  an 
architectural  molding  or  a  drawing-room  frieze  — 
and  imagine  that  the  former  was  in  any  way  a 
reflex  or  interpretation  of  the  latter.  We  may  say 
with  confidence  that  there  is  no  music  that  is  abso- 
lutely unexpressive  —  a  meaningless,  empty  play  of 
sounds.  The  music  may  be  comparatively  trivial, 
but  its  effect  is  not  that  of  a  phenomenon  wholly 
external  to  ourselves.  Every  positive  rhythm, 
213 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

every  rise  and  subsidence  of  tone  volume,  every 
distinctive  tone  color  sets  something  in  motion 
within  us,  and  that  something  is  felt  as  an  ingrown 
constituent  of  our  emotional  life. 

This  impression  is  due  primarily  to  the  nature  of 
tone  as  unlocalized,  pervading  our  whole  nervous 
organization  and  setting  it  in  vibration;  and  sec- 
ondly to  our  notion  of  music  as  something  moving, 
the  phrases  as  they  succeed  one  another  seeming  to 
contain  an  idea  that  constantly  advances  until  a 
foreseen  goal  is  reached.  The  world  within  us  and 
the  world  without  us  are  perceived  in  terms  of  flux 
and  change;  movement  is  a  manifestation  of  energy 
and  implies  to  us  life.  Music  is  likewise  move- 
ment, energy,  and  action;  and  when  we  add  the 
emotional  elements  of  rhythm  and  changes  of 
force,  speed,  and  color,  this  movement,  this  life, 
gives  us  the  impression  of  proceeding  from  con- 
sciousness and  manifesting  consciousness.  The 
musical  movement  may  be  swift  or  slow,  now 
accelerated,  now  delayed,  suggesting  notions  of 
ardency  or  languor,  impatience  or  indolence,  ac- 
cession of  vitality  or  loss  of  the  same.  A  compo- 
sition may  hasten  at  its  close  into  prestissimo  — 
energy  triumphant;  or  it  may  end  retarded,  sig- 
nifying exhaustion  or  relief  after  the  strain  of  effort. 
Within  this  movement  there  are  incalculable  varie- 
ties of  rhythm,  accents,  interruptions,  ever  chang- 
ing relations  of  longer  and  shorter  notes,  figures  of 
innumerable  modifications,  all  held  in  the  control  of 
regular  beats  and  ordered  measures  —  a  counterpart 
214 


THE  PROBLEM  OF  EXPRESSION 

in  sound  of  the  gestures  and  attitudes  which  make 
physical  action  so  vivid  an  expression  of  feeling. 

Equally  abundant  and  positive  are  the  expres- 
sional  effects  produced  by  the  degrees  of  loud 
and  soft  —  contrasts  startling  in  their  vehemence, 
shades  of  tone  exceedingly  minute  and  subtle  in 
suggestion,  not  less  efficient  than  changes  of  speed 
for  conveying  ideas  of  force  in  variation  and  con- 
trast. Not  less  definite  in  significance  are  the 
changes  between  high  notes  and  low  notes,  be- 
tween consonance  and  dissonance.  Lightness  and 
heaviness,  ease  and  constraint,  elation  and  depres- 
sion, sweetness  and  harshness,  ecstasy  and  anguish 
—  these  and  a  host  of  other  intimations  may  be 
offered  in  terms  of  differences  of  pitch  and  interval. 
Then  there  are  the  modifications  of  tone  color,  at 
times  suggestive  of  the  human  voice  or  sounds  of 
external  nature;  again  imparting  precise  ideas  by 
association,  as  the  trumpet  with  war,  the  horn 
with  the  hunt  and  forest  life,  the  flute  and  oboe 
with  peaceful  idyllic  surroundings;  again  moving 
the  mind  to  a  less  direct  expectancy,  as  when  the 
trombone  peals  in  tones  of  solemn  grandeur,  or 
the  bassoon  or  the  viola  diffuses  around  us  an 
atmosphere  oppressive  with  ominous  voices.  Take 
all  these  elements  —  pitch,  speed,  shading,  con- 
sonance and  dissonance,  rhythm,  timbre,  force  — 
try  to  conceive  all  their  varieties  of  combination, 
contrast,  and  succession,  and  no  speculation  is  able 
to  declare  the  time  when  their  possibilities  of  sug- 
gestion will  be  exhausted. 
215 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

It  is  not  strange,  then,  that  with  the  hearing  of  mu- 
sic the  imagination  wakes  from  its  slumber.  Hardly 
a  strain  can  be  found  in  all  the  array  of  the  world's 
music  that  may  not  be  united  to  some  reality  of 
the  soul's  experience.  Music  is  a  continuous  met- 
aphor. The  antithesis  between  abstract  and  char- 
acteristic beauty  —  between  absolute  and  repre- 
sentative music  —  is  constantly  dissolving.  Music 
contains  not  a  mere  general  undefined  charm  of 
tones  sensuously  colored  and  ingeniously  grouped 
like  geometrical  patterns  on  the  wall  of  a  IMoorish 
mosque,  but  a  beauty  that  is  distinctive  and  deter- 
minate; not  simply  lifting  the  soul  that  it  may 
subside  again  to  the  same  level  as  before,  but  mov- 
ing it  in  a  particular  direction  and  establishing  it 
upon  a  new  mount  of  vision.  It  is,  therefore,  no 
strained  artificial  connection  with  life  that  has 
been  forced  by  the  composers  upon  music;  the 
relationship  is  in  the  nature  of  things,  and  the 
vocal  composers  and  the  writers  of  program  music 
have  sought  to  explore  all  the  affinities  by  which 
music  shows  itself  qualified  in  its  special  way  to 
act  as  an  exponent  as  well  as  an  adornment  of  life. 

In  spite  of  all  these  considerations,  there  is  still 
controversy  over  that  form  of  music  known  as 
program  or  representative  music.  Although  it  has 
been  accepted  by  a  very  large  portion,  probably  the 
larger  portion  of  the  musical  world,  and  is  the 
most  marked  tendency  of  the  day,  there  are  many 
who  deny  its  legitimacy  and  resist  its  progress. 
Few,  indeed,  would  affirm  that  music  is  to  be 
2r6 


THE  PROBLEM   OF  EXPRESSION 

classed  as  a  merely  decorative  art,  that  it  has  no 
power  of  expression  whatever;  and  yet  there  is  a 
type  of  mind  that  takes  what  one  may  call  the 
mystical  attitude  toward  music,  prefers  to  escape 
from  the  world  of  actuality  when  listening  to  it, 
and  interprets  it,  if  at  ail,  in  the  spirit  of  Thoreau, 
Browning,  and  Hearn,  as  I  have  quoted  them  in  a 
former  chapter,  finding  in  it  a  refuge  from  the 
concrete,  the  definite,  and  the  limited.  Others 
wish  that  their  fancy  should  not  be  fettered  by 
words,  title,  or  program,  but  would  sketch  their 
own  pictures  and  dream  their  own  dreams.  The 
adherent  of  the  abstract  school  asks  with  a  tone 
of  triumph  if  the  program  school  has  any  works 
to  show  that  are  comparable  to  the  titleless  sym- 
phonies and  quartets  of  Beethoven,  Schubert, 
Schumann,  Brahms,  and  Tchaikovsky,  and  the 
sonatas,  etudes,  ballades,  scherzos,  and  impromptus 
of  Chopin.  The  program  advocate  points  to  the 
revelation  made  by  Wagner  of  the  sublime  possi- 
bilities of  music  when  directed  to  definite  pictorial 
and  expressional  ends,  speaks  of  program  music 
as  yet  in  its  infancy,  and  affirms  that  the  ferment 
of  experiment  in  representative  concert  music  of 
to-day  is  prophetic  of  an  epoch  that  will  mark  an 
advanced  stage  in  musical  evolution. 

Wisdom  decrees  the  grateful  acceptance  of  the 
noble  achievements  of  both  schools.  In  the  house 
of  art  there  are  many  mansions.  We  can  rejoice 
that  music  has  now  gone  so  far  that  every  tem- 
perament, every  opinion,  may  find  that  which  is 
217 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

suited  to  its  need.  Our  old  principle  comes  back 
again  to  guide  us,  —  does  any  single  work  fulfil  its 
intention  ?  Is  it  adapted  to  its  special  end  ?  Does 
it  satisfy  the  demand  of  one  who  takes  his  critical 
footing  upon  the  composer's  own  ground?  Is  it 
beautiful,  strong,  and  complete  as  judged  by  the 
laws  that  are  involved  in  the  class  to  which  it  be- 
longs? The  judgment  of  works  of  program  music 
is  not  based  upon  the  same  evidence  that  applies 
to  abstract  music.  Let  us  accept  both,  and  compare 
individual  works,  not  with  one  another,  but  with 
the  standard  which  the  purpose  of  each  implies. 

Let  us  now  see  what  are  the  privileges  and  the 
obligations  of  the  composer  of  program  music, 
and  what  also  must  be  the  attitude  and  the  prepa- 
ration of  the  music  lover  who  wishes  to  judge 
fairly  and  enjoy  rightly. 

It  must  first  be  observed  that  the  presence  of  a 
specific  title  does  not  necessarily  make  a  piece  of 
music  representative.  Many  works  that  are  classed 
as  program  music  are  such  only  in  name.  It  is 
well  known  that  composers  often  write  a  piece  in 
the  abstract  way,  under  the  direction  of  the  merely 
musical  impulse,  and  then  hunt  about  for  a  title  that 
will  commend  the  piece  to  the  hearer's  interest.  A 
work  of  representative  music  is  properly  one  in 
which  the  title  very  obviously  belongs  to  that 
particular  work  and  to  no  other.  There  must 
be  something  in  the  harmonies,  rhythms,  and  tone 
colors  that  inevitably  moves  the  mind  to  seek  affili- 
ations in  the  world  outside  musical  forms,  and  the 
218 


THE  PROBLEM  OF  EXPRESSION 

title  comes  in  to  lend  assistance.  The  value  of 
the  preliminary  subject  or  program  to  the  instru- 
mental composer  is  plain.  It  is  to  him  what  a 
text  or  plot  is  to  the  writer  of  a  song,  oratorio,  or 
opera.  His  musical  invention  is  stimulated;  new 
forms,  new  harmonies,  rhythms,  and  tone  colors 
spring  to  life  in  his  imagination  under  the  touch  of 
some  external  image  or  inward  recollection.  To 
the  wide  prevalence  of  this  incentive  is  largely  due 
the  vast  expansion  of  musical  resources  that  is  a 
distinguished  feature  of  our  age.  It  is  a  tendency 
which  has  emancipated  music  from  laws  which 
would  soon  have  become  burdensone.  Strict  forms 
relax  as  a  new  principle  of  cohesion  is  substituted. 
Inexhaustible  variety  ensues  in  all  the  appliances 
of  musical  expression,  and  invention  rejoices  in 
the  thought  that  complete  freedom  is  allowed  so 
long  as  truth  to  the  spirit  of  the  subject  is  main- 
tained. The  old  law  of  conformity  to  type  having 
been  abrogated,  each  work  acquires  an  individu- 
ality. Music  thus  joins  with  the  characteristic  ten- 
dency of  the  nineteenth  century,  by  which  art  has 
broken  away  from  academic  authority,  permitting 
the  artist,  whether  he  be  poet,  painter,  sculptor,  or 
musician,  to  follow  gladly  the  dictates  of  his  own 
genius,  to  choose  whatever  subject  in  nature  or 
human  life  seems  to  him  worthy  of  presentation, 
and  to  treat  it  in  his  own  personal  way,  not  a  con- 
ventional way  taught  in  the  schools,  encouraging 
him  to  find  beauty  in  character  as  well  as  in  form, 
to  break  down  the  barrier  that  formerly  existed 
219 


THE   EDUCATION   OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

between  art  and  the  larger  human  concerns,  to 
make  art  in  the  broadest  sense  a  confederate  of 
reality.  The  spirit  of  the  artist  now  has  free  play, 
and  art,  shaping  itself  anew,  creates  a  new  tech- 
nique while  it  pursues  a  new  ideal. 

It  is,  of  course,  possible  that  music,  like  painting 
and  sculpture,  may  go  so  far  in  this  direction  that 
ugliness  results  instead  of  beauty.  Music  has  so 
little  power  of  characterization  that  the  loss  of 
sensuous  beauty  cannot  be  made  good  by  those 
compensations  which  the  other  arts  have  at  their 
command.  A  picture  like  Watts's  "Mammon,"  or 
a  portrait  of  a  court  dwarf  by  Velasquez,  where 
ugliness  becomes  a  means  of  conveying  truth,  can 
have  no  precise  counterpart  in  a  musical  composi- 
tion. Composers,  however,  are  showing  discon- 
tent with  the  precept,  accepted  hitherto  as  involved 
in  the  very  nature  of  music,  that  expression  must 
not  go  beyond  the  pleasure  of  the  ear.  Something 
much  like  musical  realism  —  if  such  can  exist  —  is 
attempted  by  Richard  Strauss  and  others  of  his 
school.  Strauss  affirms  by  implication  that  music 
may  deal  with  what  is  physically  or  morally  repul- 
sive, and  may,  even  logically  must,  become  ugly  in 
fulfilling  its  office  of  dramatic  expression.  It  is 
possible  that  the  musical  world  will  eventually 
grant  to  music  this  privilege  of  foregoing  beauty 
for  the  sake  of  characterization.  If  so,  restriction 
will  probably  be  applied  to  the  choice  of  the  sub- 
ject for  representation  rather  than  to  the  expressive 
development  of  music  itself. 
220 


THE   PROBLEM   OF   EXPRESSION 

How  far  harshness  and  formal  license  may  be 
carried  for  the  sake  of  expression  is  one  of  the 
absorbing  aesthetic  questions  of  the  day.  The 
determination  is  not  quite  the  same  in  program 
music  as  in  the  opera.  The  two  cases  are  not 
quite  parallel.  Characterization  will  give  less  dis- 
pleasure in  dramatic  music  when  it  runs  to  ex- 
tremes of  violence  and  roughness  because  the 
musical  effect  does  not  stand  alone;  it  is  only  one 
ingredient  in  a  compound  in  which  words,  action, 
and  scenery  take  up  music  into  themselves  and 
subdue  it  to  the  common  intent.  But  in  a  concert 
orchestral  piece  the  program,  once  read,  is  put 
aside  and  fades  into  the  background  of  conscious- 
ness, and  the  music  asserts  itself  as  unrelated 
sound  rather  than  as  a  reflection  of  this  or  that  con- 
crete idea.  It  must  never  be  forgotten  that  in  vocal 
music  the  distinct  content  of  thought  lies  in  the 
words  and  not  in  the  music.  In  program  music 
the  content  of  thought  has  been  given  us  before 
the  music  began,  and  the  music  has  but  a  feeble 
and  indirect  means  of  keeping  that  thought  alive. 
The  disadvantage  of  a  program  that  consists  in  a 
long  series  of  details,  as  in  Berlioz's  "Symphonie 
fantastique"  and  most  of  the  symphonic  poems  of 
Richard  Strauss,  is  either  that  the  mind  will  be 
turned  away  from  the  music  in  the  effort  to  follow 
the  program  by  means  of  the  memory  or,  worse 
still,  by  means  of  the  printed  description,  or  else 
in  concentrating  the  attention  upon  the  sounds  for 
the  sake   of  the  enjoyment  of  the  ear  the  music 

221 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

will  often  appear  incoherent  and  pointless.  One 
might  maintain,  therefore,  that  music  which  re- 
quires the  accompaniment  of  an  elaborate  story  for 
its  interest  is  an  esthetic  error.  Where  the  effort 
is  successful  in  any  particular  instance,  the  success 
will  be  due  to  the  composer's  wisdom  in  selecting 
his  subject,  his  ability  to  write  music  that  is  not 
wholly  dependent  upon  the  poetic  thought  for  its 
effect,  and  his  skill  in  maintaining  by  means  of 
tone  the  vivid  impression  of  the  emotional  ground- 
work even  after  the  details  which  supply  the  motive 
have  withdrawn  from  the  listener's  mind.  The  dif- 
ficulties indeed  are  great;  so  great  that  program 
music  is  still  in  the  experimental  stage. 

I  have  spoken  of  the  value  of  a  program  to 
the  composer  in  quickening  his  invention  and  in- 
ducing variety  in  his  forms  and  colors.  Now  what 
is  the  value  of  a  program  to  the  listener?  It  is 
not  simply  that  the  program  makes  the  music 
intelligible.  Good  wine  needs  no  bush,  and  the 
music  of  a  master  may  fill  our  rapture  to  the  brim 
through  the  sufficient  glory  of  melody  and  harmony 
alone.  The  real  value  of  a  program,  it  seems  to 
me,  is  that,  like  the  words  of  a  song  or  the  plot 
of  an  opera,  it  arouses  a  preliminary  mood,  begets 
an  expectation.  The  music  is  not  required  to 
awaken  the  hearer  from  a  passive  state;  his  mind 
is  already  active,  on  the  alert  for  a  beautiful  thought 
or  image,  and  when  the  music  arises  two  pleasures 
have  been  created  —  the  pleasure  in  beautiful 
sound,  and  the  pleasure  of  the  inward  eye  or  the 

222 


THE  PROBLEM   OF  EXPRESSION 

memory  of  something  known  and  already  loved. 
The  hearer  receives,  perhaps,  some  noble  thought 
in  a  vesture  of  fitting  words,  such  as  Lamartine's 
vision  of  life,  chosen  by  Liszt  for  illustration  in  his 
symphonic  poem,  "The  Preludes."  Or  it  may  be 
the  woful  story  of  Francesca  and  Paolo;  the  moving 
fate  of  the  lovers  of  Verona;  the  sweet  village  idyl 
of  Hermann  and  Dorothea;  some  splendid  legend 
from  the  Greek  myths  or  the  Arthurian  cycle;  a 
romance  of  Arabian  chivalry.  Or  the  composer 
puts  at  the  head  of  his  piece  a  name,  a  hint,  an 
allusion  that  brings  before  us  some  intimate  scene 
of  domestic  life  dear  to  the  common  heart.  Or  it 
may  be  some  glorious  aspect  of  nature,  moonlight 
on  still  water,  a  stormy  sea,  a  forest  glade,  summer 
twilight  with  the  gathering  host  of  stars,  mountain 
summits  where  the  sunrise  plants  its  banner  and 
winds  chant  their  monotonous,  everlasting  song.  Or 
the  title  may  contain  the  mere  intimation  of  joy  or 
sorrow  —  a  touch  of  nature  that  makes  the  whole 
world  kin  —  a  mood,  a  longing,  a  desire  for  human 
fellowship,  a  religious  hope.  In  all  these  cases  not 
only  does  the  music  offer  an  interest  of  characteri- 
zation, but  the  listener  finds  his  mood  attuned  to 
the  touch  of  a  two-fold  beauty,  and  when  the 
sounds  begin  they  are  haunted  by  another  charm 
drawn  from  the  presence  of  a  cognate  loveliness 
antedating  the  music,  but  now  become  a  part  of 
the  endearing  spell  that  is  woven  upon  his  im- 
agination. 
Accepting  program  music,  not  only  as  legiti- 
223 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

mate  on  scsthetic  principles,  but  also  as  an  inevi- 
table stage  in  the  evolution  of  tonal  art,  the  music 
lover  has  only  to  consider  the  value  to  himself  of 
the  particular  works  of  this  class  that  may  come 
to  his  attention.  He  may  inquire,  Is  the  sulject 
worthy  of  the  use  the  composer  has  made  of  it? 
Is  it  suited  to  the  special  nature  of  musical  expres- 
sion? Does  the  music  conform  to  the  idea  ?  And, 
most  of  all,  does  it  have  an  artistic  value  over  and 
above  its  cleverness  as  illustration?  Music  that 
has  no  merit  in  itself  is  none  the  better  because 
the  composer  has  shown  a  fine  poetic  taste  in  his 
choice  of  a  motive.  Many  inferior  musical  pieces, 
like  unworthy  individuals,  are  received  into  good 
society  on  the  strength  of  reputable  introductions. 
It  is  a  common  error  in  respect  to  vocal  music, — 
a  beautiful  poem,  a  sublime  Scripture,  a  strong 
oratorio  theme  or  opera  plot  will  often  beguile  the 
hearer  into  imputing  to  the  music  a  merit  which  it 
does  not  possess  in  its  own  right.  It  is  the  old 
trap  into  which  so  many  fall  who  are  always,  often 
unwittingly,  looking  for  literary  values  in  art 
instead  of  musical  or  pictorial  or  sculptural  values. 
Equally  in  error  is  the  listener  who  cares  only  for 
music  in  the  abstract,  ignores  the  subject,  judges 
the  music  as  he  judges  an  untitled  sonata  or  string 
quartet,  pronouncing  the  music  good  or  bad  as 
the  melodies  and  harmonies  please  him  or  do  not 
please  him.  If  the  title  or  program  meant  noth- 
ing in  relation  to  the  composer's  inspiration  he 
would  not  have  chosen  it,  and  if  it  meant  something 
224 


THE  PROBLEM  OF  EXPRESSION 

to  the  composer  it  means  something  to  the  hearer. 
One  of  the  fundamental  canons  of  art  criticism  is 
that  the  critic  must  take  the  artist's  standpoint, 
and  appraise  the  work  in  accordance  with  the  com- 
pleteness with  which  it  fulfils  its  author's  intention. 
Program  music  always  contains  features  which 
would  not  be  there  if  they  had  not  been  suggested 
by  certain  elements  in  the  program,  and  the 
critic  must  interpret  them  with  an  eye  to  their 
character  as  illustrative  material.  It  is  the  same 
principle  that  holds  in  vocal  music,  and  it  is  con- 
trary to  reason  to  accept  the  principle  in  the  one 
form  of  art  and  reject  it  in  the  other.  And  yet 
men  have  implicitly  disowned  it  even  in  vocal 
music.  Long  struggles  were  needed  to  get  it 
adopted  in  the  judgment  of  the  opera.  Wagner's 
early  opponents  were  in  most  cases  people  who 
refused  to  hear  his  music  as  an  outgrowth  of  the 
poetry  and  the  scene,  and  because  they  could  not 
find  in  his  works  that  particular  form  and  quality 
of  melody  to  which  they  had  been  habituated  they 
tried  their  utmost  to  drive  those  superb  creations 
into  outer  darkness.  Judged  by  this  false  standard 
some  of  the  finest  modern  songs  would  miss  their 
aim,  even  if  they  were  not  declared  positively  offens- 
ive. If  the  composer  has  something  definite  to  ex- 
press and  conveys  it  with  telling  force,  then  the 
music  takes  into  itself  some  measure  of  the  beauty 
or  power  of  the  poetic  theme,  and  although  one  kind 
of  value  may  seem  to  be  sacrificed  for  another,  yet 
if  the  composer  is  a  master  of  his  art  and  can 
225 


THE  EDUCATION   OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

penetrate  the  harsh  or  irregular  music  with  the 
heart  throb  of  a  genuine  emotion  the  hearer  re- 
ceives an  abundant  compensation. 

It  is  the  duty  of  the  hearer,  in  the  case  of  rep- 
resentative instrumental  music,  song,  cantata,  or 
opera,  to  possess  himself  of  the  poetic  subject  — 
the  program  in  program  music,  the  poem  in  the 
song,  the  plot  and  significance  of  the  characters 
in  the  opera  —  as  fully  as  possible  before  the  work 
is  performed;  then  with  his  mind  properly  adjusted 
in  view  of  the  composer's  intention  he  will  be  in  a 
position  to  do  justice  to  the  composer's  achievement. 
Considering  the  vast  range  of  suggestion  which 
modern  music  covers,  this  obligation  involves  rather 
large  acquisitions  on  the  part  of  the  habitue  of 
concerts  and  operas.  Only  an  encyclopedic  knowl- 
edge of  history  and  literature  would  enable  one  to 
meet  all  the  works  of  the  modern  composers  with 
a  sufficiently  prepared  mind.  In  order  to  realize 
this,  let  one  peruse  such  books  as  Mr.  Lawrence 
Oilman's  Story  of  Symphonic  Miisic,  Mr.  George  P. 
Upton's  Concert  Guide,  or  any  of  the  numerous 
handbooks  of  operatic  plots.  Intimate  acquaint- 
ance, however,  is  more  profitable  than  special 
"cramming,"  and  other  things  being  equal  the 
man  of  wide  familiarity  with  the  records  of  human 
thought  will  have  an  advantage  over  another 
whose  literary  experience  is  more  restricted.  It 
is  obvious  that  one  who  has  never  read  A  Mid- 
summer Nighfs  Dream  will  miss  much  of  the 
charm  of  Mendelssohn's  overture.  He  will  get 
226 


THE  PROBLEM  OF  EXPRESSION 

the  melodies  and  tone  colors,  but  he  will  not  get 
the  characterization.  And  a  conductor  who  puts 
this  overture  on  a  concert  program  w^ill  not 
print  an  abstract  of  the  play  —  a  certain  amount  of 
knowledge  of  Shakespeare  on  the  part  of  the  audi- 
ence he  will  take  for  granted.  A  composer  who 
draws  his  motive  from  the  Hebrew  Scriptures, 
from  The  Iliad,  from  Faicst,  from  The  Divine 
Comedy,  from  The  Idylls  of  the  King,  from  the 
Greek  or  Norse  mythology,  assumes  an  acquaint- 
ance on  the  part  of  the  public  which  every  music 
lover  should  wish  to  justify  so  far  as  he  himself 
is  concerned.  His  general  culture  should  be  able 
to  meet  the  composer's  challenge,  but  if  it  does 
not,  let  him  not  despise  the  help  which  the  com- 
mentators oflfer  him. 

I  have  said  that  all  music  is  in  a  certain  sense 
expressive,  representative.  Notwithstanding,  the 
most  literally  imitative  piece  of  program  music  ex- 
ists for  something  better  than  description  or  illus- 
tration, its  worth,  if  it  is  worth  anything,  is  that  it 
transcends  its  theme.  The  sestheticians  have  shown 
us  that  the  school  of  realism  in  painting  and  fiction 
can  never  fulfil  its  avowed  intention  because  an  ex- 
act reproduction  of  nature  is  impossible  in  art,  and 
that  the  painter  or  writer  must  render  nature  as  he 
sees  it,  and  can  never  escape  the  law  that  every  im- 
pression is  modified  by  the  nature  of  his  tempera- 
ment, his  habits,  and  his  convictions.  In  music 
realism,  in  the  conventional  sense  of  the  theorists, 
does  not  exist  at  all;  the  most  literally  minded 
227 


THE  EDUCATION   OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

among  the  program  composers  gives  us  not  a  de- 
lineation, but  an  emotional  reaction  delivered  to  the 
listener  in  abstract  musical  terms.  The  musician's 
forms  are  of  his  own  creation,  having  no  models  in 
nature.  His  materials  —  notes  of  various  pitch  and 
timbre,  combined  in  rhythmic  phrases  and  har- 
monic groups  —  have  primarily  an  independent 
beauty  of  their  own,  and  secondarily  an  expressive 
character  through  symbolism,  analogy,  and  associa- 
tion, together  with  a  very  slight  imitative  quality 
which  acts  far  more  by  suggestion  than  by  an 
actual  reproduction  of  natural  sounds. 

In  view  of  this  let  the  music  lover  accept  the 
expressive  gift  of  music,  lending  due  weight  to  the 
real  purpose  of  text  or  program  and  its  ability  to 
guide  the  imagination,  and  then  listen  with  mind  ab- 
sorbed in  the  music  and  not  intent  on  finding  pict- 
ures or  stories  in  every  passage  that  strikes  him 
as  unusual.  People  ask.  What  does  this  or  that 
music  "mean"?  What  does  the  opening  phrase 
of  Beethoven's  Fifth  Symphony  mean?  And  one 
imagines  that  something  of  great  importance  ha.s 
been  added  when  one  is  told  that  Beethoven  said: 
"Fate  knocks  at  the  door."  The  trivial  "inter- 
pretations" in  which  musicians  sometimes  indulge 
move  one  to  something  stronger  than  impatience. 
A  professor  of  music  in  one  of  our  colleges,  writ- 
ing in  a  magazine  on  the  subject  of  teaching  musi- 
cal appreciation,  advises  that  students  be  encour- 
aged to  look  for  descriptions  in  the  pieces  they 
hear.  He  cites  a  passage  in  Chopin's  Ballade  in 
228 


THE  PROBLEM  OF  EXPRESSION 

G  minor,  and  says  that  it  depicts  a  cavalcade  of 
knights  and  ladies.  Is  a  group  of  men  and  women 
on  horseback  very  important  to  us?  Does  the 
glorious  music  of  Chopin's  masterpiece  appeal  to 
nothing  deeper  than  a  child's  delight  in  a  circus 
procession?  Will  this  expounder  of  the  sublime 
in  terms  of  the  trivial  inform  us  which  phrase 
describes  a  horse's  tail,  which  chord  is  a  knight's 
plume  or  a  lady's  head-dress?  The  poet  Sidney 
Lanier,  after  asserting  in  Music  atid  Poetry  that 
"musical  tones  have  in  themselves  no  meaning 
appreciable  by  the  human  intellect,"  a  few  pages 
farther  on,  with  delightful  inconsistency,  gives  us 
an  "interpretation"  of  Beethoven's  Seventh  sym- 
phony, in  which  he  imagines  the  composer  "com- 
ing back  from  a  journey  under  bases  of  moun- 
tains and  telling  us  what  he  saw,"  and  speaks 
approvingly  of  some  one's  comparison  of  the  third 
movement  to  "the  flight  of  bats  and  swallows  from 
a  ruin."  Is  not  this  pathetic?  Alas  for  him,  be 
he  poet  or  clown,  whose  mind  is  occupied  with 
bats  when  breathed  upon  by  that  heavenly  song  in 
D  major! 

If  those  who  give  their  lives  to  music  are  misled 
into  degrading  their  musical  experiences,  the  odd 
perversities  of  the  uninstructed  need  not  surprise 
us,  A  psychologist,  who  is  investigating  the  phe- 
nomena of  musical  receptivity,  informs  me  —  what 
perhaps  I  should  have  known  before  —  that  cer- 
tain literalists  believe,  for  instance,  that  music 
may  express  anger,  and  to  such  an  extent  that  one 
229 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

who  hears  it  will  feel  indignation  e\en  to  the  mani- 
festation of  it  in  flushed  cheeks  and  clenched  hsts. 
If  such  an  effect  could  occur  and  were  at  all  fre- 
quent, orchestral  conductors  would  need  to  take 
precautions  for  their  safety,  for  no  one  could  tell 
when  such  music  as  that  of  Wagner's  Alberich 
robbed  of  his  gold  might  excite  some  choleric 
occupant  of  a  front  seat  in  the  parquet  to  actual 
physical  violence. 

Let  us  take  high  ground  in  our  musical  enjoy- 
ments, and  believe  that  in  the  last  resort  the  essen- 
tial things  in  music  are  so  profound  that  only  her 
own  idiom  can  declare  them.  We  may  properly 
give  the  rein  to  our  imagination,  but  let  us  not 
pervert  the  composer's  message  or  transgress  the 
laws  of  art.  What  music  is,  in  its  final  analysis, 
even  its  masters  do  not  know.  Schumann,  while 
explaining  that  musicians  are  often  affected  by  out- 
ward influences  and  impressions,  declares  that 
"people  err  when  they  suppose  that  composers 
prepare  pens  and  paper  with  the  deliberate  prede- 
termination of  sketching,  painting,  expressing  this 
or  that."  "Where  the  youth  of  eighteen  hears  a 
world-famous  occurrence  in  a  musical  work,  a  man 
only  perceives  some  rustic  event,  while  the  musi- 
cian probably  never  thought  of  either,  but  simply 
gave  the  best  music  that  he  happened  to  feel  within 
him  just  then." 

The  problem  of  the  nature  and  extent  of  musical 
expression  is  the  most  difficult  in  art.  Each  music 
lover  must  solve  it  for  himself.  It  is  beyond  doubt 
230 


THE   PROBLEM   OF   EXPRESSION 

that  there  are  hidden  meanings  in  multitudes  of 
works  that  bear  no  title  and  are  connected  with 
no  text.  Tchaikovsky  wrote  his  explanation  of 
his  fourth  symphony  for  Madame  von  Meek,  not 
for  the  public.  We  know  that  his  impressive  and 
baffling  "Symphonic  pathetique"  had  a  pro- 
gram, but  that  is  all  we  know.  Beethoven  un- 
questionably could  have  given  titles  in  many  cases 
where  he  refrained.  The  music  of  every  great 
composer  is  certainly  molded  and  colored  by  his 
conceptions  of  life,  his  joys,  and  his  sorrows.  To 
say  that  a  composer  keeps  himself  out  of  his  music 
is  to  say  that  his  music  has  no  life.  Chopin's 
"revolutionary  etude"  was  surely  not  the  only 
outburst  of  distress  that  his  works  contain.  "My 
music,"  said  Schubert,  "is  the  outcome  of  my 
genius  and  my  misery."  Berlioz's  extraordinary 
Memoirs  may  be  read  as  an  indirect  commentary 
on  his  compositions.  Wagner's  "Tristan  and 
Isolde"  and  Schumann's  songs  of  the  year  1840 
are  the  outburst  of  emotion  excited  by  peculiar 
influences  belonging  to  a  distinct  epoch  in  their 
lives.  And  so  we  might  go  on  inferring  revelations 
in  unknown  instances  from  the  many  that  we  know. 
In  these  mysteries  lies  much  of  the  peculiar  fas- 
cination of  music.  Within  just  and  reasonable 
bounds  we  may  accept  them,  and  use  them  to 
enlarge  our  sympathies  while  our  senses  rejoice  in 
the  abstract  beauty  of  sound. 

We    must     observe,     however,    that    program 
music  is  not  completely  supplanting  its  sister  in 
231 


THE   EDUCATION   OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

the  household  of  art,  as  many  critics  seem  to 
believe.  Abstract  music,  so  called,  is  not  out  of 
date,  any  more  than  music  without  words,  as 
Wagner  held,  has  accomplished  all  that  is  in  it  to 
do.  A  strong  program  tendency  is  indeed  ap- 
parent, increasing  perhaps,  but  as  yet  by  no  means 
dominant.  Most  of  the  symphonies  of  Tchai- 
kovsky, Dvorak,  and  others  of  the  later  school,  all 
the  symphonies  of  Brahms,  are  without  titles  or 
programs.  The  illustrative  experiment  has  hardly 
touched  the  vast  field  of  chamber  music.  Few 
of  the  numerous  piano  and  violin  concertos  have 
definite  subjects.  Moreover,  it  does  not  yet  ap- 
pear that  the  program  symphony  and  the  sym- 
phonic poem  have  greater  achievements  to  show 
than  the  symphonies  of  Beethoven,  Schubert,  and 
Brahms,  the  D  minor  and  C  major  symphonies  of 
Schumann,  and  the  Fifth  of  Tchaikovsky;  neither 
has  illustrative  piano  music  surpassed  the  creations 
of  Chopin,  whose  designations  of  ballade,  nocturne, 
etc.,  are  not  titles  in  the  sense  in  which  the  student 
of  program  music  uses  the  term.  These  and 
other  great  works  of  the  abstract  school  may  be  in- 
terpreted indeed,  but  in  terms  of  our  own.  emo- 
tional consciousness,  and  this  perhaps  will  com- 
mend them  more  strongly  to  our  affections  than 
those  works  which,  by  reason  of  their  descriptive 
titles,  involve  an  interest  that  is  partly  or  wholly 
objective.  In  the  long  run  those  works  of  art  will 
be  most  cherished  which  emanate  spontaneously 
from  the  inner  spiritual  life  of  the  artist,  as  com- 
232 


THE   PROBLEM   OF   EXPRESSION 

pared  with  those  that  are  made  in  accordance  with  an 
influence  that  is  purely  external.  The  latter,  how- 
ever masterly  in  invention  and  design,  will  often  bear 
a  more  or  less  evident  stamp  of  artificiality.  We 
know  that  Beethoven's  greatest  works  are  the  ex- 
pression of  his  own  moods  and  spiritual  struggles, 
and  I  am  sure  that  they  are  more  impressive  on 
that  account  than  if  we  knew  that  they  were  musi- 
cal reproductions  of  incidents  in  his  own  life  or  the 
attempted  portrayal  of  scenes  in  history  or  fiction. 
After  all  it  matters  Httle,  for  in  the  last  analysis 
music  is  in  its  essential  nature  universal  and  sub- 
jective. In  its  inability  to  describe  events,  in  its 
unrivalled  power  to  idealize,  lies  its  glory.  Let  the 
partisans  of  the  abstract  and  the  program  schools 
wrangle  and  exhort.  Both  are  justified,  both  have 
their  necessary  place  in  the  economy  of  art,  and 
when  we  look  below  the  surface  we  see  that  they 
have  a  common  basis.  We  have  only  to  accept  the 
composer's  evident  intention  as  a  guide  to  the 
appraisal  of  his  work,  and  to  measure  every  musi- 
cal production  by  the  artistic  principles  which  its 
special  nature  involves.  After  all,  the  different 
types  of  art  reach  very  much  the  same  purpose  by 
different  ways.  One  great  law  sustains  them  all. 
"Truth,"  says  Professor  Dowden,  "is  the  means 
of  art;    its  end  is  the  quickening  of  the  soul." 


233 


CHAPTER  X 

MUSICAL  HISTORY  AND  BIOGRAPHY 

How  much  should  the  amateur  know  of  the  his- 
tory of  music  and  the  lives  of  the  composers  he 
loves?  Is  it  necessary  that  he  should  know  any- 
thing? He  does  not  need  to  be  told  that  musical 
works  are  not  solitary,  that  all  attach  themselves 
by  a  thousand  invisible  fibres  to  one  another  and  to 
a  world  of  thought  and  feeling  from  which  their 
individual  form  and  quahty  are  drawn;  but  what 
signifies  this  to  the  one  whom  they  momentarily 
address  in  theatre,  church,  or  concert  hall?  Noth- 
ing, perhaps,  if  the  beautiful  is  merely  the  agree- 
able, if  it  has  done  its  utmost  when  it  has  given  us 
a  few  passing  sensations  of  pleasure,  shutting  us 
off  from  all  the  constant  fellowships  of  the  reason 
and  the  understanding.  At  the  moment  of  hearing 
music  we  are,  undoubtedly,  more  conscious  of  the 
isolation  than  of  the  fellowships;  mental  concen- 
tration, as  we  have  seen,  is  the  condition  of  full 
appreciation;  but  the  music  lover  I  have  in  mind 
would  not  be  satisfied  if  this  absorption  in  purely 
personal  sensations,  delightful  and  essential  as  they 
are,  were  all  that  music  had  to  offer  him.  Music, 
-o4 


HISTORY  AND  BIOGRAPPIY 

like  all  art,  has,  primarily,  a  social  value.  In  the 
first  place  it  establishes  a  bond  of  sympathy  be- 
tween the  individual  hearer  and  his  fellow  worship- 
pers at  the  shrine  of  art.  King  Ludwig  of  Bavaria 
deceived  himself  when  he  imagined  that  those  per- 
formances of  his  splendid  opera  company  which  he 
ordered  for  himself  alone,  gave  him  the  highest 
degree  of  satisfaction  that  music  can  afford.  And 
in  the  second  place,  when  we  survey  music  as  a 
historic  art,  the  product  of  an  evolution  due  to 
known  and  to  unknown  causes,  as  representative 
of  certain  world  movements  and  as  the  expression 
of  the  soul  hfe  of  its  creators,  men  like  unto  our- 
selves who  addressed  themselves  directly  to  us  in 
their  works,  appealing  for  our  sympathetic  com- 
prehension —  then  a  new  order  of  gratifications  is 
set  up  in  our  minds,  the  highest  and  best,  I  am 
ready  to  believe,  that  art  can  furnish. 

A  work  of  art  is  not  of  any  greater  worth  aestheti- 
cally because  it  marked  a  crisis  in  a  composer's  life 
or  reflected  a  certain  phase  of  culture  or  manners. 
But  the  fringe  of  associations,  the  human  sugges- 
tions, that  gather  around  it  stir  our  imagination 
into  very  profitable  activity  as  soon  as  our  quest 
extends  into  the  region  they  inhabit.  Whatever 
affects  the  state  of  the  mind  in  presence  of  a  work 
of  art  enters,  whether  we  are  immediately  aware 
of  it  or  not,  into  our  judgment  of  its  personal  worth. 
So  far  as  a  critic  is  conscious  of  the  background, 
looks  for  the  larger  fact  which  gives  to  the  work  its 
existence  and  support  and  finds  in  it  a  human  docu- 
235 


THE  EDUCATION   OF  A   MUSIC  LOVER 

ment,  so  far  will  it  offer  him  a  peculiar  kind  of  in- 
terest which  is  unknown  to  him  who  studies  it  in 
isolation  and  detachment.  If  we  can  bring  our- 
selves to  believe  that  the  value  of  art  is  a  social  value, 
then  we  shall  use  works  of  art  as  a  medium  of  com.- 
radeship  between  ourselves  and  the  soul  of  their 
creator  and  the  soul  of  their  time.  We  speak  of 
representative  music  as  especially  characteristic  of 
the  nineteenth  and  twentieth  centuries,  but  in  a  very- 
real  sense  all  great  music  is  representative.  Not 
only  the  program  music  of  our  day,  which  strives 
to  assume  the  prerogatives  of  poetry  and  painting, 
but  even  in  the  classic  period,  when  art,  to  borrow 
the  words  of  Vernon  Lee,  "exists  for  art's  own 
sake,  when  men  ask  it  only  for  the  beautiful,  when 
it  stands  in  full  independence"  —  this  classic  phase 
is  also  a  product  of  evident  conditions,  and  it  means 
more  to  us  if  we  go  outside  of  it  and  survey  the 
social  and  artistic  tendencies  of  its  time.  Moreover, 
when  we  say  that  a  work  of  art  appeals  or  should 
appeal  to  us  completely  severed  from  external  con- 
ditions, just  as  it  is  in  itself,  we  forget  that  the  im- 
pression of  a  work  of  art  is  never  simple,  but  always 
very  complex.  It  is  the  result  of  many  predisposi- 
tions perpared  by  a  multitude  of  personal  experi- 
ences and  associations.  A  work  of  art  cannot  make 
identically  the  same  effect  upon  any  two  persons, 
for  the  receiving  faculty,  depending  as  it  does  upon 
a  complex  train  of  habits  and  mental  activities,  can- 
not be  precisely  the  same  in  both.  The  emotional 
response  is  largely  conditioned  by  the  kind  and  de- 
236 


HISTORY  AND  BIOGRAPHY 

gree  of  individual  expectation.  If  historic,  social, 
and  personal  associations  cluster  around  a  musical 
composition  the  hearer's  state  of  expectancy  is  very 
unlike  that  of  another  in  whose  mind  this  particular 
kind  of  atmosphere  is  lacking.  There  is  more  sat- 
isfaction to  us  if  there  seems  a  revelation  of  life  in 
the  music;  if  the  man  Beethoven  or  the  man  Schu- 
bert speaks  to  us  in  his  works;  if  the  elegant,  witty, 
formal,  eighteenth  century  finds  a  voice  in  the 
prim  old  harpsichord  suites  and  Neapolitan  arias; 
if  the  fervor  of  German  piety  and  the  dogmatic 
austerity  of  Lutheranism  are  heard  in  the  cantatas 
of  Sebastian  Bach,  and  the  passionate  cry  of 
modern  pessimism  and  disenchantment  is  echoed 
in  the  bitter  strains  of  Tchaikovsky. 

I  am  well  aware  that  I  have  now  entered  upon 
debatable  ground,  and  I  must  be  very  careful  of 
my  words  lest  my  meaning  be  misunderstood  and 
I  seem  to  play  fast  and  loose  with  established  aes- 
thetic principles.  Such  analogies  as  I  have  adduced 
may  easily  be  pushed  too  far.  That  way  lies  the 
sentimental  "interpretation"  of  music  which  has 
justly  aroused  the  scorn  of  clear  thinkers.  Protest 
against  it  has  driven  certain  writers  to  the  opposite 
extreme.  Critics  of  the  school  of  Hanslick  and 
Gurney  deny  that  the  effect  of  music  owes  any- 
thing to  historic  or  personal  associations.  "There 
is  no  indirect  way,"  says  Gurney,  "in  which  music 
can  make  good  that  claim  to  our  interest  and  at- 
tention which  only  its  own  beauty  can  enforce. 
.  .  .  When  we  turn  to  the  actual  position  of  music 
237 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

in  the  present  day,  to  the  actual  effect  of  those 
works  which  have  any  sort  of  true  vitahty,  we  shall 
find  that  the  extraordinary  power  or  popularity  of 
the  art  is  due  to  the  isolation  of  its  sphere,  to  the 
very  fact  that  its  roots  have  their  place  apart  in  our 
physical  and  spiritual  nature,  and  know  nothing 
of  the  interest  or  the  disturbances  of  intellectual, 
social,  or  political  life."  Similarly,  although  much 
nearer  to  the  real  point,  Matthew  Arnold  utters  a 
warning  against  the  fallacy  that  may  arise  in  our 
judgments  of  poetry  by  applying  the  historic  esti- 
mate. "By  regarding  a  poet's  work,"  he  says,  "as 
a  stage  in  [a]  course  of  development,  we  may  easily 
bring  ourselves  to  make  it  of  more  importance  as 
poetry  than  in  itself  it  really  is." 

In  these  objections  there  is  certainly  much  truth, 
and  the  study  of  the  history  of  art  will  lead  to  many 
errors  if  it  persuades  us  in  any  instance  to  substitute 
an  archaeological  or  social  or  any  kind  of  auxiliary 
value  for  the  inherent  aesthetic  value.  Arnold, 
however,  goes  on  to  add  to  his  maxim  a  qualifica- 
tion which  seems  to  me  to  touch  the  core  of  the 
issue.  "The  use  of  this  negative  [that  is,  historic 
or  biographic]  criticism  is  not  in  itself;  it  is  entirely 
in  its  enabling  us  to  have  a  clearer  sense  and  a  deeper 
enjoyment  of  what  is  truly  excellent.  To  trace 
the  labor,  the  attempts,  the  weaknesses,  the  failures 
of  a  genuine  classic,  to  acquaint  oneself  with  his 
time  and  his  life  and  his  historical  relationships, 
is  mere  dilettantism  unless  it  has  that  clear  sense 
and  deeper  enjoyment  for  its  end." 
238 


HISTORY  AND  BIOGRAPHY 

The  acceptance  of  this  principle  will  clear  away 
many  doubts  from  the  mind  of  the  teacher  of  musi- 
cal appreciation  who  feels  that  the  study  of  the  art 
cannot  wisely  be  severed  from  its  historic  and  so- 
cial background.  His  business  is  with  the  intelli- 
gent application  of  the  principle.  He  must  cer- 
tainly bear  in  mind  that  the  aesthetic  values  are 
primary,  that  a  work  is  no  more  deserving  of  ad- 
miration because  it  is  a  hnk  in  a  chain  of  develop- 
ment, that  a  dull  piece  of  music  is  no  less  unprofit- 
able because  it  happens  to  have  been  produced  in 
connection  with  a  momentous  revival  of  rehgion, 
that  the  world  cares  little  for  the  joys  and  sorrows 
of  a  composer  unless  his  music  is  in  itself  beautiful. 
But  when  it  is  beautiful  the  enjoyment  of  it  seems 
somewhat  more  worthy  and  leaves  a  more  perma- 
nent impress  when  it  is  reenforced  by  a  conscious- 
ness of  the  human  impulses  from  which  it  sprung. 
It  is  another  thread  that  binds  us  to  our  kind. 
For  Gurney's  statement  is  not  true  that  "music 
knows  nothing  of  the  disturbances  of  intellectual, 
social,  or  political  life."  Of  pohtical  life  perhaps 
not,  but  it  is  a  very  superficial  view  of  music,  par- 
ticularly nineteenth  century  music,  which  sees  in  its 
phenomena  no  correspondence  with  intellectual  and 
social  changes.  The  time  will  come  when  some 
scholar,  equipped  with  sufficient  learning  and 
philosophic  acumen,  will  exhibit  modern  art  and 
literature  floating  on  the  great  tide  within  which  the 
thoughts,  passions,  and  aspirations  of  the  race  are 
moving,  and  he  will  not  exclude  music  from  his 
239 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

sun'ey.  We  may  concede  to  Gurney  that  these 
large  considerations  may  have  nothing  to  do  with 
our  instant  enjoyment  of  a  concert  or  opera  when 
new  and  unfamiliar  works  are  before  us;  yet  when 
v.'c  deliberately  study  all  the  phenomena  of  music 
from  every  side  we  feel  instinctively  that  music 
is  something  more  than  Hanslick's  "sounding  ara- 
besques," something  more  even  than  the  embodi- 
ment of  fugitive  emotion  detached  from  the  current 
of  life;  that  in  it  the  soul  of  humanity  finds  a  voice 
and  expresses  in  its  own  mysterious  way  certain 
vital  elements  that  help  to  compose  the  temper  of 
its  age. 

It  seems  to  me  that  the  statement  made  in  a  for- 
mer chapter  in  regard  to  the  value  to  the  hearer  of 
the  subject  or  program  in  representative  music 
may  be  extended  to  explain  —  in  a  very  general 
way  —  the  significance  to  the  music  lover  of  the 
history  of  his  art.  As  in  representative  music  the 
ideas  and  feelings  that  the  music  endeavors  to  ex- 
press are  conveyed  to  the  hearer  in  advance  and  the 
mind  is  prepared  to  receive  certain  extra-musical 
impressions  in  addition  to  the  pleasure  of  abstract 
sound, —  so  it  may  be  said  that  the  knowledge  of 
historic  relations  in  music  gives  an  enlargement  to 
our  consciousness,  and  music  which  for  the  mo- 
ment may  seem  an  all-sufficient  fact  remains  in  our 
thought  as  part  of  a  greater  fact.  And  because  the 
problems  of  the  past  are  the  problems  of  the  emo- 
tional life  of  all  times,  the  student  comes  to  per- 
ceive that  in  the  history  of  the  art  he  loves  there  is 
240 


HISTORY  AND   BIOGRAPHY 

to  be  found  evidence  of  experiences  akin  to  his  own, 
and  he  is  helped  to  realize  that  in  his  musical  joys 
he  is  one  of  a  vast  congregation,  bound  to  multitudes 
in  many  lands  and  ages  by  one  of  the  most  tenacious 
of  those  sympathies  that  evince  a  common  nature 
among  the  races  of  men. 

These  principles  are  almost  self-evident  in  the 
case  of  the  more  definitely  expressive  of  the  arts,  such 
as  poetry  and  painting.  They  are  not  self-evident 
in  music;  in  fact  they  are  so  recondite,  so  impossi- 
ble to  demonstrate  in  detail,  so  difficult  to  formu- 
late in  words,  that  it  is  not  strange  that  some  deny 
their  validity  altogether.  But  music  comes  from 
so  deep  a  source,  it  is  so  universal,  it  has  undergone 
so  many  changes  under  external  as  well  as  internal 
conditions,  that  it  would  be  simply  evading  a  diffi- 
culty to  deny  that  it  is  also  in  the  broad  sense  a 
representative  art.  In  applying  the  canons  of  his- 
toric interpretation  to  music  we  must  only  be 
watchful  to  maintain  proper  reserve. 

Art  history  is  the  re-creation  of  the  world  around 
the  artist.  It  tells  us  whence  he  drew  his  forms, 
his  styles,  his  methods,  and  the  special  tendency  of 
his  genius  in  its  practical  activity.  It  helps  us  to 
explain  works  by  showing  how  they  came  to  be, 
the  influences  that  stirred  and  molded  them. 
The  prime  impulse,  certainly,  is  the  artist's  genius, 
and  that  we  cannot  fathom.  But,  as  Emerson 
said,  "the  greatest  genius  is  the  most  indebted 
man."  His  works  are  largely  the  product  of  his 
environment,  which  includes  his  early  educational 
241 


THE   EDUCATION   OF  A   MUSIC   LOVER 

influences.  Chopin  before  the  full  development  of 
the  piano  would  not  have  been  the  Chopin  we 
cherish  now;  Sebastian  Bach,  taken  in  childhood 
to  Italy  and  brought  up  among  the  artistic,  religious, 
and  social  conditions  there  prevailing,  would  have 
become — we  know  not  what.  Art  history  shows 
the  influence  of  race,  of  family,  of  education,  of 
external  circumstances  favorable  and  unfavorable, 
of  patronage,  of  prevailing  contemporary  ideas. 
It  enables  us  to  understand  the  condition  of  public 
taste  and  the  special  demands  which  institutions, 
locahty,  etc.,  laid  upon  the  composer's  work.  It 
tells  us  also  how  the  artist  was  constrained  by  the 
degree  of  technical  development  which  his  art  had 
attained,  by  the  nature  of  the  materials  he  was 
forced  to  use.  Art  is  the  expression  of  emotion  in 
some  medium  appealing  to  the  senses.  The  com- 
prehension of  any  art  requires  a  recognition  of 
the  necessities  imposed  by  the  medium, —  as  for 
example  the  state  of  the  language  in  comparing 
Chaucer  with  Shakespeare  and  Tennyson,  the  in- 
ferior knowledge  of  pigments,  drawing,  composi- 
tion, and  perspective  possessed  by  the  earlier  Italian 
painters  as  compared  with  the  later. 

Guided  by  this  principle  the  student  of  music  sees 
that  he  must  not  expect  to  find  in  Beethoven's  sym- 
phonies the  orchestration  of  Wagner,  nor  the  har- 
mony of  Elgar  and  Franck  in  the  oratorios  of  Han- 
del. Thus  enlightened  —  and  here  is  the  gist  of  the 
whole  matter  —  he  is  thrown  back  and  his  attention 
concentrated  upon  the  elements  of  power  that  are 
242 


HISTORY  AND  BIOGRAPHY 

actually  present  in  Handel  and  Beethoven.  In  no 
other  art  does  the  technical  attainment  of  the  period 
exert  so  compelling  an  influence  upon  the  style  as 
it  does  in  music.  Making  the  proper  allowance  for 
this,  and  also  for  the  action  of  race,  epoch,  common 
ideals,  and  social  conditions,  the  student  who  has 
developed  the  historic  sense  is  able  to  employ  the 
standards  of  judgment  that  are  applicable  to  each 
composer  and  school.  He  learns  what  to  look  for, 
and  especially  what  he  has  no  right  to  look  for. 
If  historic  study  had  no  other  result  than  this  it 
would  be  more  than  justified,  for  it  has  seemed  to 
me  that  there  is  no  more  frequent  cause  of  non- 
appreciation  and  false  judgment  than  this  of  de- 
manding in  musical  works,  especially  those  of  the 
older  masters,  qualities  which  in  the  nature  of  the 
case  they  cannot  possess.  The  great  secret  of  criti- 
cal justice  is  in  the  ability  to  measure  works  by  the 
standards  that  are  applicable  to  them.  When  this 
habit  is  formed  the  student  is  prepared  to  take  the 
proper  point  of  view.  He  escapes  the  errors  that 
arise  from  faulty  perspective.  Getting  into  the 
artist's  world  the  observer  becomes  as  one  of  his 
contemporaries.  He  attains  that  prime  condition 
of  true  critical  judgment  and  rational  enjoyment  of 
art,  which  is  —  sympathy. 

It  must  still  be  kept  in  mind  that  aesthetic  values 
are  distinct  from  historic  values,  and  it  is  quite  con- 
ceivable that  a  passion  for  historic  investigation  or 
textual  criticism  may  exclude  the  spontaneous  un- 
reasoning delight  in  beautiful  things,  such  as  an 
243 


THE   EDUCATION   OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

impulsive  school  girl  finds  in  Chopin  or  Grieg.  I 
certainly  am  not  one  of  those  who  would  exchange 
the  rapture  of  a  Wordsworth  or  a  Whitman  in  the 
presence  of  nature  for  that  of  a  geologist  over  the 
unexpected  discovery  of  glacial  scratches.  But 
still  there  is  a  point  where  aesthetic  values  and  his- 
toric interests  may  meet  and  sustain  one  another. 
The  question  of  the  effect  produced  by  a  work  of 
art  is  only  partially  a  question  of  the  work  in  and 
of  itself  —  it  is  even  more  a  question  of  the  mental 
attitude  of  the  beholder  or  hearer.  Every  mental 
experience  is  the  result  of  all  the  mental  experiences 
that  have  gone  before;  it  is  the  latest  term  of  a 
series.  The  immediate  impression  of  a  piece  of 
music  is  certainly  an  aesthetic  one,  not  scientific, — 
emotional,  not  intellectual.  Nevertheless  the 
aesthetic  impression,  which  seems  at  the  time  so 
simple  and  immediate,  is  really  a  bewildering  com- 
pound made  up  of  a  mingling  of  all  past  percep- 
tions and  appreciations  and  habits.  The  study  of 
the  history  of  music  is  one  of  the  formative  in- 
fluences which  unconsciously  sway  the  receptive 
sensibility.  It  is  a  liberalizing  process;  it  makes 
the  mind  hospitable  to  a  multitude  of  considerations 
which  assist  the  proper  estimate  of  works  of  various 
schools.  It  gives  the  mind  that  flexibility  which 
enables  it  to  shift  its  ground  and  take  a  station 
from  which  the  work  may  be  seen  clear  of  in- 
tervening prejudices.  The  preliminary  discipline 
seems  to  lend  the  needed  warrant  to  the  accuracy  of 
the  aesthetic  emotion;  it  is  a  partial  guarantee 
244 


HISTORY  AND   BIOGRAPHY 

against  self-deception.  For  the  best  results  of 
knowledge  come  when  we  are  unconscious  of  it 
as  a  mere  process  of  intellectual  acquisition,  and  it 
has  become  a  part  of  feeling.  Knowledge  ceases 
to  be  reflective  and  abstract  only  when  it  has  be- 
come resolved  into  immediate  insight  and  direct  ex- 
perience. 

There  is  no  study  connected  with  art  in  which  "a 
saving  grace  of  common  sense"  is  more  required 
than  the  history  of  music.  When  the  culture  of  an 
amateur  is  involved,  and  not  the  research  of  a  spe- 
cial investigator,  it  seems  plain  that  only  those  fields 
of  history  need  to  be  considered  that  bear  some  rela- 
tion to  his  own  situation  and  needs  as  an  amateur. 
And  yet  even  here  an  enthusiastic  music  lover  will 
wish  to  avoid  a  too  narrow  restriction.  The  breadth 
of  vision  that  comes  from  wide  excursions  will  af- 
fect, although  indirectly,  every  musical  experience. 
Nevertheless  certain  schools  and  periods  are  far 
more  important  to  him  than  others.  The  music 
lover  is  not  called  upon  to  exchange  aesthetic 
pleasure  for  the  entertainment  of  curiosity  and 
speculation.  I  am  ready  to  agree  with  Mr.  W. 
C.  Brownell  that  to  a  man  thoroughly  alive  his 
own  period  is  more  important  than  any  other. 
But  this  does  not  mean  that  works  produced  in  his 
own  period  are  necessarily  and  always  more  service- 
able to  him  than  those  of  the  past.  It  is  not  a 
matter  of  date  but  of  actual  living  power.  The 
"Well-tempered  Clavichord"  is  more  to  us  of  the 
twentieth  century  than,  let  us  say,  the  piano  works 
245 


THE   EDUCATION  OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

of  Brahms.  It  is  not  that  the  "Well-tempered 
Clavichord"  was  a  great  work  for  its  time,  but  that 
it  is  a  great  work  now.  In  the  productions  of  the 
older  time  there  is  more  reserve,  less  lavishness  in 
color,  less  agitation  of  surface  than  in  those  of  the 
late  romantic  epoch,  but  in  their  reflection  of  the 
moods  which  are  the  inheritance  of  all  the  genera- 
tions they  have  no  date,  but  are  contemporary  with 
the  latest  expression  of  genuine  human  emotion. 
The  old  boundary  lines  which  were  made  artificially 
to  separate  successive  periods  from  one  another 
have  been  removed;  the  men  of  old  time  are  our 
ancestors  not  merely  in  the  flesh,  but  also  in  men- 
tal and  moral  habit;  while  modes  of  expression 
change,  fundamental  feelings  which  issue  in  liter- 
ary and  artistic  forms  remain  essentially  the  same. 
The  difference  is  one  of  varying  emphasis  upon 
this  or  that  phase  of  experience,  this  or  that  view 
of  the  universe  with  the  resulting  reactions,  also  a 
difference  in  the  means  available  for  expression,— 
but  there  is  no  emotional  state,  no  consequent  mode 
of  utterance  from  the  rudest  to  the  most  reflned 
that  cannot  be  accepted,  either  in  reality  or  imagi- 
natively, as  our  own.  We  are  in  touch  at  every 
moment  with  the  heart  of  all  mankind.  In  the 
words  of  the  ancient  poet,  nothing  that  is  really 
human  is  foreign  to  us.  Every  artist  and  thinker 
who  had  a  sincere  message  for  his  own  age  has 
also  a  message  for  the  present  and  the  future. 

If  a  student  of  the  history  of  music  enjoys  the 
services  of  a  teacher  a  word  of  admonition  to  that 
246 


HISTORY  AND  BIOGRAPHY 

teacher  may  not  be  out  of  place.    He  must  have  con- 
victions and  preferences;  — if  he  is  not  extremely 
wise  and  honest  he  will  mistake  prejudices  for  con- 
victions and  magnify  his  predilections  into  general 
laws.     There  is  safety  in  placing  one's  chief  reh- 
ance  on  works  and  composers  that  have  survived 
the  storms   of  controversy  and   stand   before  the 
world's  regard  in  the  calmness  of  assured  victory. 
There  is  no  essential  difference  of  opinion  among 
intelligent    people   in   respect   to    the   organ    and 
clavier    works    of    Sebastian    Bach,   the   sympho- 
nies of   Beethoven,   the   songs   of   Schubert,   and 
the  piano  works  of  Chopin.     Many  other  com- 
posers are  eminent  for  specific  unmistakable  quali- 
ties, and  there  is  no  dilficulty  in  distinguishing  the 
sahent  beauties   of  recognized   masterpieces.      In 
cases  where  there  are  honest  differences  of  opinion 
among  equally  competent  authorities  the  teacher 
should  be  liberal  enough  to  refrain  from  attempt- 
ing to  enforce  his  own  views  and  disparaging  the  op- 
posite.    He  may,  for  example,  greatly  admire  Men- 
delssohn, at  the  same  time  being  willing  to  admit 
that  many  good  judges  deny  to  Mendelssohn  a 
place  in  the  first  rank  of  composers.     The  teacher's 
only  honest  course  in  such  a  case  is  to  give  the  rea- 
sons for  praise  and  dispraise  that  are  advanced 
from  both  sides,  and  help  his  pupils  to  weigh  opin- 
ions in  the  face  of  representative  works  and  to 
form  conclusions  for  themselves.     I  do  not  need 
to  enlarge  upon  the  value  of  this  discipline  in  the 
formation  of  character.     For  character  is   rather 
247 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

to  be  chosen  than  much  learning,  and  a  flexible, 
catholic,  wide  open  mind  is  the  best  result  of 
the  study  of  the  history  of  music  or  any  other 
study. 

Besides  the  temptation  to  dogmatic  assertion  there 
is  another  danger  into  which  the  freedom  and  irre- 
sponsibility of  a  lecturer's  position  are  prone  to 
lead  him,  and  that  is  the  natural  tendency  to  lay 
undue  emphasis  upon  subjects  in  which  he  himself 
is  especially  interested.  He  may  be  engaged  in  re- 
searches in  some  abstruse  department  of  history, 
such  as  mediaeval  notation  or  the  development  of 
musical  instruments.  He  may  have  some  favorite 
composer  upon  whom  he  loves  to  dilate.  His  tem- 
perament may  incline  him  to  linger  in  some  single 
attractive  field,  such  as  church  music  or  the  folk 
song.  It  is  hard  for  him  to  restrain  his  enthusiasm 
before  his  class,  and  he  will  need  to  check  his  in- 
clination to  place  his  own  sympathies  above  his 
pupils'  needs.  It  is  proper  enough  that  a  teacher 
of  art  should  have  his  hobbies,  but  he  must  learn 
to  curb  them  in  the  lecture  room.  He  must  never 
lose  sight  of  proportions;  he  must  not  forget  that 
the  functions  of  the  special  investigator  and  those 
of  a  lecturer  to  ingenuous  seekers  after  truth  are 
distinct.  The  safeguard  is  in  a  broad  and  systema- 
tized plan,  calculated  in  advance  and  maintained 
with  unflinching  determination,  for  the  teacher  who 
simply  follows  the  lure  of  each  day's  suggestion  will 
often  find  at  the  end  that  he  has  wasted  time  in 
agreeable  side  excursions,  while  the  view  of  the 
248 


HISTORY  AND   BIOGRAPHY 

subject  which  his  class  has  acquired  remains  frag- 
mentary, disproportioned,  and  obscure. 

In  the  critical  study  of  art  there  are  three  groups 
of  materials,  viz.,  the  actual  works  of  art,  contem- 
porary records  bearing  upon  them  and  the  condi- 
tions that  produced  them,  and  the  commentaries  of 
critical  scholars.  The  first-hand  scrutiny  of  musi- 
cal compositions  is  the  alpha  and  the  omicga  of  the 
student's  task.  It  should  be  the  effort  of  every 
teacher  of  musical  history  to  bring  before  his  pu- 
pils as  many  of  the  representative  works  of  the 
masters  as  possible,  and  to  set  them  to  studying  these 
works  on  both  the  structural  and  the  expressional 
sides.  This  seems  as  commonplace  a  remark  as 
any  lover  of  platitudes  could  desire;  but  it  is  by  no 
means  superfluous,  for  I  have  found,  after  long  and 
sometimes  irritating  experience,  that  the  majority 
of  students  are  more  inclined  to  read  about  works 
of  musical  art  in  histories  and  critical  essays  than 
to  make  direct  attack  upon  the  works  themselves. 
The  reason  for  this,  I  think,  is  partly  indolence, 
partly  a  modest  distrust  of  their  own  critical  judg- 
ment when  it  comes  to  giving  definite  reasons.  It 
is  one  of  the  many  aspects  of  that  trait  in  human 
nature  which  prefers  submission  to  authority  in 
place  of  the  independent  exercise  of  the  reason. 
Here  is,  perhaps,  the  noblest  opportunity  of  the 
teacher  in  helping  his  pupils  to  acquire  the  investi- 
gating spirit  and  to  gain  confidence  in  their  own 
conclusions. 

There  are,  of  course,  many  periods  and  schools 
249 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

whose  production  it  is  not  possible  for  the  pupil 
personally  to  examine.  The  seventeenth  century, 
for  instance,  will  always  be  more  or  less  of  a  terra 
incognita,  which  the  average  student  can  see  only 
through  the  eyes  of  men  like  Sir  Hubert  Parry  who 
have  boldly  explored  its  devious  ways.  Few  of 
the  vast  multitudes  of  the  church  compositions  of 
the  fifteenth  and  sixteenth  centuries  are  accessi- 
ble. Even  in  the  case  of  the  available  works  of 
the  nineteenth  century  composers,  the  money  cost, 
especially  of  operas  and  orchestral  scores,  is  a  for- 
midable obstacle.  In  respect  to  the  majority  of 
works  and  schools,  teachers  and  pupils  ahke  must 
depend  upon  the  reports  of  special  investigators. 
And  even  in  the  cases  of  composers  whose  produc- 
tions can  be  known  to  the  student  at  first  hand,  he 
must  not  go  to  the  extreme  of  personal  independence 
and  neglect  the  commentaries  that  have  been  written 
by  men  of  learning  and  discernment.  These  com- 
mentaries will  not  merely  give  information,  they 
will  suggest  and  stimulate,  they  will  prevent  or 
correct  false  interpretations  and  narrow  views.  It 
follows  that  the  instructor  must  know  what  are  the 
best  books  in  the  various  departments  of  his  sub- 
ject, he  must  be  able  to  perceive  the  difference  be- 
tween a  philosophic  treatment  of  a  theme  and  one 
that  is  scrappy  and  superficial.  He  must  know 
how  to  make  allowance  for  the  personal  equation 
and  estimate  the  critic's  competence  in  view  of  his 
temperament,  education,  and  aesthetic  principles. 
With  all  due  recognition  of  the  usefulness  of  books, 
250 


HISTORY  AND  BIOGRAPHY 

the  teacher  must,  however,  keep  his  pupils  as  far 
as  possible  face  to  face  with  actual  living  works. 
He  must  encourage  them  to  inquire  and  explore  so 
far  as  their  means  extend,  employing  the  opinions 
of  others  only  as  provocation  and  guidance  in  the 
formation  of  their  own.  For  this  point  must  ever 
be  made  emphatic,  —  the  study  of  the  history  of 
music  is  not  merely  for  the  purpose  of  accumulating 
facts,  but  far  more  for  discovering  the  meaning  and 
uses  of  facts  and  training  the  critical  faculty.  And 
the  desired  end  is  found  not  in  the  instant  results 
alone,  but  in  the  acquisition  of  a  correct  method, 
the  preparation  of  the  ground  for  study  and  achieve- 
ment in  the  future.  No  matter  how  short  a  dis- 
tance the  teacher  may  have  gone  in  his  own  origi- 
nal research,  he  must  know  what  are  the  accepted 
methods  of  historical  investigation,  so  that  by  and 
by  his  pupils  may  be  able  to  get  along  without  him. 
This  should  always  be  the  teacher's  aim,  —  to 
show  his  pupils  how  to  walk  safely  when  they  are 
obliged  to  walk  alone. 

A  host  of  questions  will  arise  to  tax  the  teacher's 
wisdom,  but  the  art  of  arts  in  lecturing,  as  in  read- 
ing, is  that  of  skipping.  There  is  no  more  danger 
of  over-scantiness  than  there  is  of  over-fulness. 
The  teacher  who  is  loaded  with  his  subject  will 
often  revel  in  details,  forgetting  the  wise  saying  of 
Voltaire  that  the  secret  of  being  a  bore  is  to  tell 
everything.  In  economy  of  material,  in  selection, 
adjustment,  and  balance,  so  that  nothing  essential 
is  omitted  and  nothing  superfluous  introduced,  the 
251 


THE   EDUCATION   OF  A   MUSIC  LOVER 

teacher  may  himself  exhibit  some  of  the  shining 
quahties  of  an  artist.  He  will  do  well  to  contrive 
his  own  scheme  and  not  indolently  adopt  that  of 
another.  He  may  think  best  to  study  with  his 
class  the  chief  composers  in  chronological  order. 
In  that  case  he  will  state  in  terse  form  the  distin- 
guishing traits  of  each  master,  with  the  illustration 
of  a  few  works  in  which  these  traits  are  especially 
apparent.  He  may,  however,  prefer  to  trace  the 
development  of  the  principal  forms,  such  as  the 
symphony,  opera,  song,  piano  music,  church  mu- 
sic. Whatever  the  system,  the  larger  attention 
should  be  given  to  the  forms  and  composers  that 
touch  most  closely  the  pupil's  life  and  needs.  In 
American  schools,  for  example,  the  history  of  piano 
music,  the  song,  orchestral  music,  church  music,  and 
the  oratorio  should  have  much  more  time  than  the 
history  of  the  opera.  This  does  not  mean  that  the 
opera  should  be  neglected,  for  since  an  important' 
motive  of  a  history  course  is  the  preparation  for 
the  musical  experiences  of  the  student's  future,  the 
whole  theory  of  the  opera  should  be  considered, 
and  a  general  acquaintance  formed  with  the  sub- 
jects and  salient  characteristics  of  those  lyric 
dramas  that  have  gained  a  secure  place  in  the 
world's  regard.  But  in  the  wisest  division  of  time 
that  which  is  most  representative  at  the  present 
day  should  have  preference  over  that  which  has 
merely  a  historic  or  local  interest. 

Those  who  have  a  decided  leaning  toward  any 
sinj^le   department   of   musical   art   will    naturally 
252 


HISTORY  AND   BIOGRAPHY 

wish  to  become  familiar  with  the  history  of  their 
specialty,  and  this  preference  may  well  be  en- 
couraged. The  pianist  should  be  at  home  in  the 
annals  of  his  instrument  and  its  music,  the  singer 
familiar  with  the  history  of  the  song,  the  organist 
and  choir  leader  with  the  ideal  and  development 
of  church  music  and  Its  relation  to  the  various 
modes  of  religious  worship.  Yet  no  phase  of  music 
can  be  isolated;  for  of  all  the  separate  departments 
of  musical  art  is  it  true,  as  Emerson  sings  of  the 
factors  in  human  society: 

"All  are  needed  by  each  one; 
Nothing  is  fair  or  good  alone." 

To  rise  to  the  highest  view  of  our  theme,  neither 
does  the  whole  history  of  music  stand  alone.  Music 
can  never  be  separated  from  the  larger  life  of  the 
world.  The  fascination  of  the  study  of  its  history 
lies  in  its  relation  to  the  whole  course  of  civilization, 
for  although  it  is,  so  far  as  definite  expression  is 
concerned,  the  most  remote  of  the  arts  from  the 
ordinary  phenomenal  life,  it  is  at  the  same  time, 
as  Lotze  declares,  the  most  social  of  the  arts,  and 
its  constant  striving  after  new  forms  and  adapta- 
tions is  the  reflection  of  tendencies  in  society  which 
reveal  themselves  also  in  arts,  philosophies,  man- 
ners, and  institutions.  Nothing  is  more  observable 
in  the  recent  progress  of  music  than  its  intimate 
connection  with  literature,  as  shown  in  the  opera, 
cantata,  and  program  music  of  the  nineteenth  cen- 
253 


THE   EDUCATION  OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

tury.  The  different  styles  of  church  music  are  the 
outgrowth  of  necessities  in  the  creeds,  traditions,  dis- 
ciplines, and  ceremonies  of  the  great  ecclesiastical 
orders.  The  national  movements  in  those  countries 
which  have  but  recently  entered  the  current  of 
musical  progress,  such  as  Russia,  Bohemia,  Nor- 
way, and  Finland,  are  to  be  interpreted  only  as  we 
refer  them  back  to  still  deeper  stirrings  of  the  popu- 
lar self-consciousness.  To  sound  these  depths  of 
musical  suggestion  would  require  an  abundance  of 
knowledge  and  a  capacity  for  philosophic  general- 
ization that  can  hardly  be  expected  of  a  musical 
scholar.  It  is  enough  to  say  that  these  relation- 
ships exist,  and  that  the  recognition  of  them,  even 
afar  off,  is  a  mighty  kindler  of  enthusiasm.  No 
breadth  of  culture,  no  acquaintance  with  lan- 
guages, literature,  art,  and  history  is  superfluous  to 
the  one  who  wishes  to  solve  the  meaning  of  music 
and  interpret  its  message  to  the  ages.  A  lifetime 
is  far  too  short  to  compass  the  circuit  of  its  rela- 
tions. The  magnitude  and  difficulty  of  such  studies 
should  be  to  every  student  not  a  discouragement 
but  an  inspiration. 

In  studying  the  history  of  music  we  learn  to 
merge  our  scanty  personal  experience  in  the  ex- 
perience of  the  race.  We  acquire  the  open  mind, 
the  liberal  judgment.  We  forsake  prejudices  and 
observe  art  works  in  their  universal  aspects.  Crit- 
ics of  the  scientific  order  tell  us  that  we  must 
repress  personal  predilections  and  apply  to  works 
of  art  standards  that  are  established  by  the  con- 
254 


HISTORY  AND   BIOGRAPHY 

sent  of  the  best  minds.  This  is  practicable  only  so 
far  as  we  are  able  to  make  the  judgments  of  the 
best  minds  sincerely  our  own  because  our  reason 
assents  to  them,  for  an  opinion  accepted  merely 
on  the  authority  of  a  name  can  never  coerce  us 
much  after  we  have  forgotten  its  terms.  Every  es- 
timate, to  be  worth  anything,  must  be  a  personal 
estimate.  It  follows,  therefore,  that  it  is  our  duty 
to  make  this  estimate  comprehensive  and  just,  so 
far  as  it  lies  in  our  power.  In  this  adjustment  of 
the  receiving  mind  to  the  work  in  hand  we  accept 
the  aid  of  history, —  not  only  the  history  of  forms 
and  productions,  but  also  the  history  of  taste.  In 
the  sifting  process  of  public  opinion  we  find  the 
only  really  trustworthy  test  of  artistic  value,  for  by 
this  we  discover  whether  a  work  has  in  itself  a  corre- 
spondence with  genuine  human  need.  Great  works 
appear  greater  and  small  works  appear  smaller 
when  brought  before  the  tribunal  of  history. 

Deference  to  the  verdicts  of  history,  however, 
does  not  annul  the  student's  right  of  private  judg- 
ment. "The  salt  of  all  aesthetic  inquiry,"  says 
Walter  Pater,  ''is  what,  precisely  what,  is  this  to 
me."  It  makes  a  vast  difference,  however,  what 
there  is  in  this  me,  what  faculty  of  response  to  that 
which  is  strongest  and  finest  and  most  human  in 
art.  There  is  little  value  in  any  culture  of  the  in- 
tellect that  is  kept  apart  from  sympathetic  contact 
with  the  great  heart  of  the  world.  When  the  mind 
has  become  expanded  by  the  entrance  of  the  large 
human  sympathies,  the  reactions  in  the  face  of  par- 
255 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

ticular  works  and  groups  of  works  will  be  different 
from  those  that  are  felt  when  there  is  no  conscious- 
ness of  art's  permanent  social  relations.  Through 
the  sympathetic  action  of  his  art  the  student  is  able 
to  enter  into  the  spiritual  life  of  his  fellow-men,  and 
to  feel  that  he  is  at  one  with  them  in  some  of  the 
nobler  interests  of  the  soul.  The  ultimate  purpose 
of  the  study  of  the  history  of  music  is  to  increase 
musical  appreciation  in  the  deeper  sense  of  the 
term,  to  enrich  the  inner  life  by  making  it  receptive 
to  all  those  quickening  influences  which  music  in 
its  evolution  through  the  centuries  has  gained  the 
power  to  exert. 

Besides  the  historic  background  which  imparts 
the  social  interest  to  groups  of  works  and  schools 
of  composition,  there  is  often  to  be  found  a  closer 
and  more  intimate  revelation  where  a  work  pos- 
sesses a  quality  which  can  plainly  be  interpreted  as 
a  communication  of  the  composer's  self  —  his  tem- 
perament, experience,  and  attitude  toward  life. 
Through  a  vast  amount  of  music,  especially  that 
of  the  nineteenth  and  twentieth  centuries,  runs 
what  may  be  called  a  lyric  quality, —  behind  the 
work  we  discover  the  man.  Not  the  man  merely  as 
musician,  as  master  of  musical  science,  or  inventor 
of  themes  and  forms,  but  the  man  like  ourselves, 
who  might  have  expressed  himself  in  literary  terms 
if  his  talent  had  led  him  that  way.  These  personal 
deliverances  cannot  be  directly  demonstrated  to  be 
such;  the  composer  is  no  doubt  often  unconscious 
256 


HISTORY  AND  BIOGRAPHY 

that  he  is  uncovering  his  heart;  yet  the  message 
seems  plainly  lurking  in  the  depths  of  his  tones. 
As  the  yearning,  tormented  soul  of  Michelangelo 
is  unveiled  in  the  grandiose  forms,  the  speaking 
countenances,  and  the  strained  attitudes  of  the  sub- 
lime figures  in  the  Medici  chapel  and  the  prophets 
and  sibyls  of  the  Sistine,  just  as  the  insatiable  cu- 
riosity concerning  life  and  the  sympathetic  love  for 
all  mankind  are  seen  in  the  portraits  and  religious 
pictures  of  Rembrandt,  so  in  the  masterpieces  of 
modern  music  a  human  heart  may  be  found  beat- 
ing amid  their  melodies  and  harmonies,  and  we 
greet  not  merely  the  clever  fabricator  of  tone  struct- 
ures but  a  living,  striving,  suffering  companion. 
I  am  quite  sure  that,  in  the  last  analysis,  this  recog- 
nition of  fellowship  with  great  characters  is  the 
deepest  source  of  pleasure,  as  it  is  the  most  salutary 
result,  in  the  study  of  art.  The  intense  desire  that 
every  lover  of  music  has  to  know  more  about  the 
great  composers  as  men,  through  their  biographies, 
letters,  conversations,  anecdotes,  and  the  testimony 
of  their  acquaintances,  is  associated  with  a  belief 
that  their  music  contains  more  or  less  of  the  ele- 
ments of  a  confession. 

We  find,  to  be  sure,  a  school  of  artists  and  critics 
who  repudiate  any  concern  with  the  subjective  ele- 
ment in  literary,  plastic,  or  musical  works.  The  au- 
thor may  be  morally  good  or  bad,  they  maintain, 
optimist  or  pessimist  or  anything  you  please,  it  is  of 
no  consequence;  it  is  the  work  and  our  psychical  re- 
actions that  are  important  to  us,  not  the  author. 
257 


THE  EDUCATION   OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

Flaubert,  proclaiming  the  most  extreme  principles  of 
realism,  exclaimed:  "The  man  [that  is,  the  author] 
is  nothing,  th  work  is  everything,"  and  apparently 
convinced  himself  that  in  his  own  novels  nothing 
of  himself  is  to  be  found.  "But  is  it  possible," 
asks  Bourget,  "that  a  work  can  possess  an  exist- 
ence in  itself  and  different  from  the  mind  that  pro- 
duced it  ?  Docs  not  a  creation  of  an  artist  —  pict- 
ure or  statue,  poem  or  romance,  piece  of  music  or 
of  architecture  —  have  for  its  first  condition  that 
of  being  the  transparence  of  a  sensibility,  the  reve- 
lation, direct  or  symbohc,  of  a  certain  soul?"  It  is 
unquestionable  that  the  composer  conceals  himself 
in  his  music  far  more  completely  than  the  lyric  poet 
is  able  to  do,  but  even  his  art  is  not  a  complete  dis- 
guise —  there  will  be  something  in  his  melodies  and 
harmonies  that  betrays  him.  Is  not  the  soul  of 
the  music  really  the  soul  of  the  man?  Does  it  not 
help  us  in  studying  Beethoven  to  know  something 
of  him  as  he  knew  himself?  Do  we  not  find  in 
many  of  his  letters  an  almost  painful  effort  to  im- 
part something  which  comes  to  fuller  utterance  in 
his  music  ?  Are  we  not  more  powerfully  affected  by 
that  music,  are  we  not  more  likely  to  feel  human 
sympathy  as  well  as  aesthetic  pleasure,  if  we  have 
learned  something  of  the  composer's  joys  and  sor- 
rows, his  spiritual  struggles  and  victories?  Would 
his  music  make  the  same  appeal  to  our  descendants 
as  it  does  to  us  if  every  record  of  his  life  were  to  be 
blotted  out,  if  they  could  know  nothing  of  his  per- 
sonal traits  or  the  conditions  under  which  his  works 
258 


HISTORY  AND   BIOGRAPHY 

were  produced,  the  affliction  of  his  deafness  and 
his  beloved  nephew's  ingratitude,  his  sohtude,  his 
friendships,  his  proud  independence,  his  boisterous 
humor,  his  unsteady  temper,  the  strange  minghng 
of  coarse  manners  wdth  tenderness  as  sweet  as  that 
of  a  woman,  his  vague  rehgious  yearnings,  his  love 
of  nature,  his  democratic  principles,  his  lofty  ideals, 
his  passionate  devotion  to  his  art,  his  unwearied 
quest  of  perfection?  Sir  George  Grove  raises  the 
question  if  a  certain  superficiality  in  Mendelssohn's 
work  may  not  be  due  to  his  unfailing  good  fortune 
and  habitual  high  spirits.  Was  Schubert  correct  in 
saying  that  his  best  music  was  the  product  of  his 
misery  as  well  as  of  his  genius?  The  question  of 
the  precise  nature  of  the  relation  between  a  com- 
poser's music  and  his  life  and  character  is  a  baffling 
one,  and  an  eagerness  to  look  everywhere  for  ex- 
act correspondences  leads  to  that  sentimentahsm 
which,  as  in  the  study  of  the  history  of  music,  we 
must  carefully  avoid.  In  a  multitude  of  instances 
such  direct  connection  cannot  be  discovered  —  as 
for  e  ample  between  Beethoven's  joyous  Second 
Symphony  and  the  doleful  "will"  of  about  the  same 
date,  —  yet  it  is  certain  that  a  man's  outward  acts 
and  displays  of  temperament  proceed  from  inner 
causes  that  are  just  as  mysterious  to  us  as  the  act 
of  artistic  creation,  and  to  say  that  there  is  no  re- 
lation between  the  emotional  life  as  shown  in  works 
of  beauty  and  the  emotional  life  as  shown  in  those 
outward  signs  by  which  men  interpret  the  inner 
life,  would  be  to  assert  that  music  stands  isolated 
259 


THE   EDUCATION   OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

from  the  other  arts,  falsely  called  its  sisters,  and  is 
merely  a  formal  play  of  pleasant  sounds,  as  super- 
ficial, as  meaningless  as  its  detractors  have  ever 
maintained. 

While  we  must  be  on  our  guard  against  carrying 
our  curiosity  concerning  a  musician's  life  into  ir- 
relevant gossip,  we  are  more  than  justified  when 
we  seek  to  draw  from  the  records  everything  that 
may  help  us  to  understand  the  man  as  he  really 
was.  The  most  illuminating  aids  to  this  sympa- 
thetic comprehension  will  be  found  in  the  letters 
of  composers,  especially  n  the  correspondence  of 
men  like  Schumann,  Wagner,  Liszt,  and  Tchai- 
kovsky, who  had  both  a  love  of  introspection  and 
a  gift  of  literary  expression.  Nothing  is  more 
striking  in  the  annals  of  recent  music  than  the  in- 
tense desire  on  the  part  of  these  representative 
musicians,  and  of  many  others  in  less  degree,  to 
expose  to  friendly  scrutiny  their  most  cherished 
convictions  and  desires.  To  the  art  critic  these 
documents  are  indispensable,  for  they  abound 
in  the  most  instructive  discussions  upon  practical 
and  theoretical  musical  questions,  besides  throw- 
ing light  upon  the  author's  own  intentions  in  his 
creative  work.  In  some  of  these  writings  artistic 
affairs  are  uppermost,  in  others  personal,  domestic, 
or  social  concerns  predominate.  In  Wagner's  let- 
ters both  the  artist  and  the  man  in  every  conceiva- 
ble relation  are  revealed  with  an  unexampled  abun- 
dance and  minuteness.  As  volume  after  volume  of 
his  letters  issues  from  the  press  we  almost  wonder 
260 


HISTORY   AND   BIOGRAPHY 

how  he  found  time  for  any  other  occupation.  But 
these  letters  and  his  theoretical  books  and  pamphlets 
are  to  a  large  extent  explanatory  of  his  dramas  — 
and  these  dramas,  as  he  distinctly  tells  us,  are  always 
the  embodiment  of  his  opinions  and  his  longings, 
the  one  passion  of  his  life  not  being  fame  or  wealth 
but  to  be  understood.  The  fascinating  enigma 
of  Tchaikovsky's  character  almost  ceases  to  be  an 
enigma  as  we  read  his  letters  to  Madame  von  Meek; 
a  very  essential  element  in  the  biography  of  this  per- 
turbed spirit  is  to  be  seen,  for  example,  in  his  ex- 
planation to  her  of  the  meaning  of  his  Fourth  sym- 
phony. No  one  can  mistake  the  direct  relation- 
ship between  the  letters  of  these  musicians  I  have 
mentioned  and  their  compositions;  their  tastes, 
aims,  and  temperaments  are  found  in  both  modes 
of  expression.  In  Tchaikovsky's  Fourth  and  Sixth 
symphonies  we  recognize  the  same  swift  alternation 
of  moods,  the  brooding  melancholy,  the  fierce  re- 
volt, the  weakness  of  will,  the  unstable  compound 
that  results  from  the  mingling  of  ungoverned  im- 
pulse (so  common  in  the  Slav)  with  western  cul- 
ture that  we  observe  in  the  records  of  his  life. 
Liszt's  joyous  bonhomie,  cosmopolitan  sympathies, 
overflowing  vitality,  and  exuberant  enjoyment  of 
whatever  is  romantic,  picturesque,  and  splendid  are 
evident  in  his  compositions  and  in  his  delightful 
Travel  Letters  of  a  Bachelor  of  Music.  No  less  do 
Schumann's  taste  for  the  more  inward  and  senti- 
mental phases  of  literary  romanticism  and  his 
love  of  simple  domestic  pleasures  find  expression 
261 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

in  his  correspondence,  his  essays,  his  piano  pieces, 
and  his  songs. 

This  intimate  relation  between  art  and  personal 
life,  and  this  propensity  to  supplement  musical 
production  with  definite  explanations,  is  becoming 
more  and  more  characteristic  of  the  present  age. 
The  offices  of  composer  and  expounder  are  fre- 
quently united;  the  world  wants  the  composer's 
opinions  of  his  own  work  and  of  the  work  of  others; 
the  musician  has  become  a  man  of  affairs,  and  his 
relation  to  the  public  is  far  more  direct  and  inti- 
mate than  of  old.  He  comes  more  than  half  way 
to  meet  his  patrons,  and  takes  every  pains  to  be 
understood  by  them.  The  composer  of  the  nine- 
teenth century  is  not  only  nearer  to  us  in  time  than 
his  forerunner  of  the  eighteenth,  but  he  is  nearer  in 
the  eager  approach  of  his  heart,  in  his  almost  pa- 
thetic appeal  for  comprehension.  In  this  self-rev- 
elatory character  of  his  work  he  is  as  strictly  a  child 
of  his  age  as  the  contemporary  painter,  poet,  or 
romancer.  The  period  of  abstraction  in  music  was 
past  when  Beethoven  employed  the  standard  forms 
as  channels  through  which  he  poured  the  burn- 
ing stream  of  his  own  passionate  self-consciousness. 
Music  has  ever  since,  in  spite  of  partial  reversions 
in  such  men  as  Mendelssohn  and  Brahms,  been 
intensely  individual,  a  cry  of  the  man  as  well  as  of 
the  age.  It  is  music  with  a  purpose.  The  public 
is  well  aware  of  this,  it  loves  more  and  more  to  dis- 
cover personality  in  art  creations,  and  hence  the 
demand  for  musical  biographies,  reminiscences, 
262 


HISTORY  AND  BIOGRAPHY 

diaries,  and  letters  expands  from  day  to  day.  In 
this  attraction  to  the  spiritual  adventures  of  its 
heroes  the  public  seems  to  confirm  the  assertion  of 
Richard  Wagner  that  "the  severance  of  the  artist 
from  the  man  is  as  brainless  an  attempt  as  the  di- 
vorce of  soul  from  body";  and  that  "never  was 
an  artist  loved  nor  his  art  comprehended  unless 
he  was  also  loved  —  at  least  unwittingly  —  as  man, 
and  with  his  art  his  life  was  also  understood." 

There  is  litde  danger,  I  think,  that  the  music 
lover  will  fail  to  make  the  necessary  discrimina- 
tions in  this  department  of  musical  interpretation. 
Not  in  every  composer,  by  any  means,  do  we  find 
this  direct  and  self-revealing  individualism.  Among 
artists  we  find  two  classes,  viz.,  the  subjective  and 
the  objective.  In  poetry,  Goethe,  who  tells  us 
that  all  his  poems  were  occasional  poems  called 
forth  by  real  circumstances,  that  all  he  published 
were  "fragments  of  a  long  confession,"  is  the  type 
of  the  subjective  artist;  Schiller,  who  went  outside 
of  himself  for  his  material  and  built  up  his  pieces  in 
deliberate  workman-like  fashion,  with  cool,  system- 
atic regard  to  proper  form  and  technique,  is  the  type 
of  the  objective  artist.  The  same  antithesis  we  find 
in  painting  between  Da  Vinci  or  Rembrandt  and 
Raphael.  Wagner  is  preeminently  an  example 
of  the  subjective  musician;  his  dramas  are  as  much 
a  part  of  the  author's  self  as  are  the  poems  of  Shel- 
ley and  Byron.  The  eighteenth  century  opera  com- 
posers before  Mozart  and  Gluck  are  purely  ob- 
jective; their  works  were  produced  to  order  and 
263 


THE  EDUCATION   OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

according  to  contract,  their  subjects  were  wholly 
conventional,  their  music  constructed  in  accordance 
with  rule  and  tradition.  The  personal  interest  in 
their  work  is  nil,  and  nothing  that  we  know  of  their 
history  or  character  is  of  any  value  to  us  in  the  ap- 
preciation of  their  work.  This  is  almost  enough 
in  itself  to  account  for  the  oblivion  into  which  these 
operas  have  fallen.  Opera,  like  the  spoken  drama, 
is  indeed  essentially  an  objective  art,  for  the  au- 
thor's purpose  is  to  reflect  nature  as  he  sees  it  around 
him,  not  as  it  is  in  his  own  inner  brooding.  Never- 
theless the  modern  opera,  like  the  spoken  play,  is 
becoming  more  subjective,  and  the  Strausses  and 
the  Debussys  of  our  time  are  no  more  anxious  than 
our  Ibsens  and  Maeterlincks  to  keep  themselves 
altogether  out  of  their  work. 

With  the  composers  of  abstract  instrumental  mu- 
sic the  problem  is  not  so  easy.  It  is  more  a  matter 
of  intuition  than  direct  perception  when  we  find 
the  man  behind  the  music.  Nevertheless  nothing 
can  be  more  plain  than  that  such  men  as  Schumann, 
Grieg,  Tchaikovsky,  Dvorak,  and  MacDowell,  per- 
haps, indeed,  most  of  the  leaders  of  nineteenth  cen- 
tury music,  wrote  not  because  they  chose,  but  be- 
cause they  must,  that  they  had  that  within  them 
which  forced  its  way  out,  a  burden  upon  their 
souls  that  gave  them  no  peace  until  it  was  dis- 
charged. They  were  not  journeymen  under  em- 
ploy, like  so  many  musicians  of  the  preceding  cen- 
turies, but  free  independent  spirits  who  spoke  not 
to  order,  or  in  conformity,  but  as  their  own  separate 
264 


HISTORY  AND  BIOGRAPHY 

irrepressible  genius  bade  them  speak.  The  state- 
ment of  Wagner,  quoted  above,  must  not  be  taken 
to  apply  to  all  composers  but  only  to  those  of  the 
self-conscious  order  to  which  he  himself  belonged; 
but  the  application  can  be  made  to  the  greater  num- 
ber of  the  masters  whom  we  most  love,  and  it  will  be 
found,  I  think,  that  the  music  that  touches  us  most 
deeply  and  which  we  retain  in  our  memories  is  the 
music  in  which  the  lyric  element  is  most  apparent. 
One  practical  suggestion  is  necessary  here.  In 
employing  this  somewhat  hazardous  method  of  in- 
terpretation which  I  have  advised,  the  student  must 
take  note  of  the  stage  in  a  composer's  development 
to  which  any  given  composition  belongs.  Every 
composer  of  note  has  to  pass  through  a  season  of 
formalism,  when  he  is  learning  how  to  use  his  tools, 
getting  together  the  material  for  self-expression. 
In  this  early  period  he  wall  be  more  or  less  under 
bondage  to  his  predecessors,  and  in  absorbing  their 
work  he  will,  in  spite  of  himself,  model  his  own  pro- 
duction after  their  manner.  There  is  nothing  of 
the  mature  Wagner  in  "Rienzi";  there  is  much  of 
the  contemporary  Vienna  school  in  the  first  trios 
and  sonatas  of  Beethoven;  there  is  little  individ- 
uality in  the  early  symphonies  of  Schubert;  Verdi 
did  not  find  himself  until  he  was  past  fifty.  Marked 
originality  sometimes  appears  almost  at  the  out- 
set, as  in  Schubert's  songs  and  Schumann's  piano 
pieces,  but  even  with  these  composers  the  law 
will  be  found  to  hold  good  in  other  forms  which 
they  cultivated.  Wagner,  in  his  Coni?nunication  to 
265 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

My  Friends,  makes  the  very  profound  observation 
that  every  artist  of  real  importance  is  made  what 
he  is  under  the  direction  of  two  orders  of  impres- 
sions, viz.,  artistic  impressions  (meaning  thereby  his 
lessons  from  the  technical  study  of  his  art  and  the 
influence  of  other  composers)  and  impressions  of 
life.  The  student  of  music  who  wishes  to  get  to 
the  heart  of  the  works  of  his  favorite  masters  will 
take  both  these  orders  of  impressions  into  account. 
In  the  first  period  of  a  composer's  life  the  artistic 
impressions  will  usually  be  the  strongest,  but  as  he 
grows  older  he  will  come  more  and  more  under  the 
sway  of  spiritual  forces  and  they  will  gradually 
give  a  more  personal  color  to  his  work. 

It  follows  from  what  has  been  said  that  in  study- 
ing and  teaching  the  history  of  music,  biography 
must  not  be  kept  apart  from  the  development  of 
form  ana  technique.  Better  too  much  of  it  than 
too  little.  Keep  the  personal  human  element  in  the 
foreground.  The  understanding  of  every  com- 
poser's work  involves  the  question  of  how  it  came 
to  be,  and  we  must  go  wide  and  deep  in  our  search 
for  causes. 


266 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE   MUSIC   LOVER   AND   THE   HIGHER 
LAW 

The  good  of  all  ages  who  have  been  imbued  with  a  passion 
for  righteousness,  have  never  hesitated  to  spend  themselves 
generously  for  the  cause  they  loved,  the  advancement  of  good- 
ness; nor  should  those  who  care  for  what  is  beautiful  ever 
hesitate  to  give  themselves  as  liberally  to  make  beauty  prevail 
in  the  world. — Bliss  Carman,  The  Poetry  oj  Life. 

In  the  foregoing  pages  I  have  endeavored  to  show 
the  amateur,  who  begins  with  no  knowledge  of 
musical  theory,  some  of  the  principles  of  musical 
design  and  expression.  I  have  tried  to  correct  the 
common  opinion  that  nothing  is  needed  in  the  cult- 
ure of  the  listener  except  frequent  association  with 
beautiful  works  and  the  frank  surrender  to  imme- 
diate impressions.  I  trust  also  that  I  have  suc- 
ceeded in  demonstrating  that  a  knowledge  that  will 
immensely  increase  the  permanent  benefits  to  be 
derived  from  music  can  be  obtained  by  any  one  who 
is  ignorant  of  musical  science,  by  following  methods 
which  are  applied,  mutatis  mutatidis,  to  the  study 
of  the  arts  of  design. 

There  still  remains  a  doubt  in  the  minds  of  many 
earnest  people,  who  will  refuse  to  entertain  the 
claims  of  art  unless  they  can  see  that  it  makes  a 
267 


THE  EDUCATION   OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

positive  contribution  to  moral  and  intellectual  prog- 
ress. What  has  it  to  do  with  conduct?  they  will 
ask.  How  does  it  help  one  to  meet  the  practical 
issues  of  every  day?  Does  it  give  steadfastness  to 
one's  higher  purposes?  Are  the  hours  which  its 
votaries  dedicate  to  it  a  preparation  for  faithful  ser- 
vice in  the  world,  or  are  they  an  indulgence  which 
tends  to  weaken  the  will  and  promote  a  selfish 
indifference  to  the  prosaic  commonplace  interests 
upon  which,  nevertheless,  the  health  of  the  com- 
munity depends  ?  Is  not  the  passion  for  art,  when 
given  free  scope,  mentally  and  morally  injurious,  or 
at  best  ethically  neutral,  because  it  tempts  one  by 
visions  of  exquisite  delight  away  from  the  active 
duties  and  the  larger  sympathies  ? 

These  questions,  which  are  constantly  raised  an 
respect  to  art  and  to  aesthetic  culture,  seem  at  firs! 
sight  to  apply  more  directly  to  music  than  to  the 
representative  arts  and  literature.  The  latter  are 
more  closely  connected  with  constant  life  and  with 
mental  and  moral  ideas.  They  bring  life  and  its 
permanent  activities  directly  before  us.  We  can- 
not resist  the  thought  that  they  are  designed  to 
instruct  as  well  as  to  give  pleasure,  to  bring  the 
consciousness  into  contact  with  physical  or  mental 
energies  as  well  as  to  make  the  sensibilities  more 
delicate.  They  unite  the  world  of  outer  experience 
directly  with  the  inner  world  of  emotion.  A  large 
acquaintance  with  life,  therefore,  seems  necessary 
for  their  full  appreciation. 

Music,  on  the  other  hand,  remains  enclosed  in 
268 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  LAW 

a  palace  of  its  own  creation,  which  seems  almost 
like  a  prison  so  excluded  is  it  from  the  world  of 
change  and  conflict.  It  is  in  the  world,  but  appar- 
ently not  of  it.  It  seems  at  times  little  more  than 
a  fair  illusion;  to  us,  as  to  Jean  Paul  Richter,  it 
tells  of  that  which  we  have  not  seen  and  shall  not 
see.  When  Matthew  Arnold  proclaims  his  famous 
dictum  that  poetry  is  at  bottom  a  criticism  of  life 
—  the  application  of  ideas  to  life  —  even  if  we  re 
fuse  to  accept  it  as  a  complete  statement,  we  con- 
fess that  it  contains  a  large  measure  of  truth.  If 
he  had  also  applied  the  same  test  to  painting  and 
sculpture  we  should  not  reject  it  utterly.  But  no 
one,  I  think,  would  assert  that  music  is  a  criticism 
of  life  —  the  application  of  ideas  to  hfe.  Arnold's 
further  claim  that  "the  substance  and  matter  of 
the  best  poetry  acquire  their  special  character  from 
possessing,  in  an  eminent  degree,  truth  and  seri- 
ousness," would  again  not  be  wholly  inapplicable 
to  the  other  representative  arts,  but  could  hardly 
be  made  for  music.  Seriousness,  yes;  but  to  speak 
of  truth  in  connection  with  music  would  be  to  use 
a  term  without  meaning  unless  we  apply  to  music 
Keats's  declaration,  questionable  elsewhere,  that 
"beauty  is  truth,  truth  beauty."  It  is,  therefore, 
hardly  a  cause  for  surprise  that  philosophers  and 
moralists  often  look  with  suspicion  upon  the  fasci- 
nations of  music,  and  would  restrict  musical  in- 
dulgence on  intellectual  and  ethical  grounds,  or 
else  would  insist  that  some  practical  counter  inter- 
est should  be  at  hand  to  neutralize  the  spell 
269 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

which  the  enticing  goddess  of  sound  throws  over 
her  adorers.  William  James  has  thus  solemnly 
spoken  from  his  professorial  pulpit:  "The  habit 
of  excessive  indulgence  in  music,  for  those  who 
are  neither  performers  themselves  nor  musically 
gifted  enough  to  take  it  in  a  purely  intellectual 
way,  has  probably  a  relaxing  effect  upon  the  char- 
acter. One  becomes  filled  with  emotions  which 
habitually  pass  without  prompting  to  any  deed,  and 
so  the  inertly  sentimental  condition  is  kept  up. 
The  remedy  would  be  never  to  suffer  one's  self  to 
have  an  emotion  at  a  concert  without  expressing  it 
afterward  in  some  active  way.  Let  the  expression 
be  the  least  thing  in  the  world  —  speaking  genially 
to  one's  aunt,  or  giving  up  one's  seat  in  a  street  car, 
if  nothing  more  heroic  offers  —  but  let  it  not  fail 
to  take  place." 

Professor  Vida  Scudder  assumes  a  still  more 
austere  mien  as  she  brings  this  sweeping  charge: 
"There  is  a  class  to  whom  the  stimulus  offered  by 
music  is  on  the  whole  a  demoralizing  influence. 
In  their  quiet  and  well  ordered  existence,  where  the 
sensational  must  be  found  not  in  external  events, 
but  in  subjective  experience,  the  thirst  for  a  subtle 
form  of  emotional  excitement  becomes  the  domi- 
nant motive  of  life.  If  the  end  of  life  be  purpose- 
ful activity  and  the  function  of  emotion  be  simply 
to  stimulate  to  action  —  then  it  must  be  seen  that 
among  the  influences  to  which  the  oversensitive 
nature  can  subject  itself  there  is  none  more  dan- 
gerous and  pernicious  than  music.  For,  more  than 
270 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  LAW 

any  other  power  on  earth,  music  arouses  emotion 
without  furnishing  any  hint  of  an  end  to  which  the 
emotion  shall  be  directed." 

This  would  be  a  formidable  indictment  if  its 
premises  and  its  implications  in  regard  to  the  nat- 
ure and  consequences  of  the  musical  experience 
could  be  wholly  accepted.  As  a  general  principle 
it  is  undoubtedly  true  that  the  end  of  life  is  pur- 
poseful activity,  but  surely  this  does  not  mean  that 
we  should  be  in  a  condition  of  physical  or  mental 
restlessness  every  hour  of  our  waking  existence. 
As  it  is  the  duty  of  some  to  think  in  solitude  while 
others  perform  in  the  great  world's  eye,  so  there  is 
a  time  in  each  man's  life  for  escape  from  the  duties 
that  grind  and  wear,  and  from  the  emotions  that 
know  no  peace  until  they  have  gone  forth  in  action. 
There  is  a  place  for  contemplation,  for  the  refresh- 
ment that  follows  a  visitation  of  heavenly  beauty,  for 
the  inward  happiness  which  may  indeed  strengthen 
us  for  purposeful  activity  when  the  proper  time 
for  it  comes,  but  which  our  instinct  tells  us  is  a 
worthy  and  wholesome  thing  in  itself,  regardless  of 
ulterior  aims.  In  poetry,  in  art,  in  music  there 
is,  in  Bhss  Carman's  words,  "a  power  that  stills 
our  superficial,  unnecessary  self  and  allows  our 
wiser,  deeper  self  a  moment  or  an  hour  of  free- 
dom." James  implies  that  the  first  duty  after  a 
musical  experience  is  to  forget  it  as  soon  as  possi- 
ble, implicitly  denying  that  one  carries  away  from 
the  concert  hall  anything  that  can  profitably  be  re- 
lived in  memory  and  become  a  restorer  of  the  jaded 
271 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

spirit  for  the  next  day's  toil.  Music  is  an  ex- 
pression of  life,  and  the  works  of  the  great  com- 
posers are  the  projection  of  the  spirit  of  men  who 
thought  deeply,  wrought  heroically,  and  imparted 
to  their  music  the  strength  they  won  from  conflict 
with  the  baffling  mysteries  and  the  stern  oppositions 
of  the  world.  "To  quicken  our  life  into  a  higher 
consciousness  through  the  feelings  is  the  function 
of  art,"  said  Professor  Dowden,  and  every  one  who 
takes  music  seriously  and  has  come  to  understand 
its  breadth  and  height  would  indignantly  combat 
an  assertion  that  music  does  not  possess  this  quick- 
ening power.  "The  emotions  which  I  experience 
while  hearing  music,"  says  John  Addington  Sy- 
monds  in  his  Diary,  "in  beautiful  scenery,  before 
fine  pictures,  in  cathedrals,  at  the  thought  of  noble 
men  —  these  enable  me  to  understand  and  to  en- 
joy, intensify  the  glow  of  life,  and  raise  me  to  a 
higher  sphere."  Any  one  who  feels  in  himself  this 
consequence  of  great  music  need  not  distress  his 
soul  with  fears  that  his  active  energy  will  thereby 
be  undermined. 

It  must  nevertheless  be  confessed  that  there  is 
a  side  of  aesthetic  indulgence  in  which  peril  lurks, 
and  no  honest  lover  of  art  will  refuse  to  face  the  di- 
lemma. On  this  subject  a  few  things  may  perhaps 
profitably  be  said.  In  the  first  place  these  perils 
are  not  confined  to  music,  and  there  is  a  rank  in- 
justice in  singling  her  out  as  a  more  dangerous  se- 
ducer than  her  sisters.  Certain  writers  are  fond 
of  asserting  the  superiority  of  poetry,  painting,  and 
272 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  LAW 

sculpture  to  music  because,  as  one  of  them  declares, 
"they  give  us  ideas  to  apprehend  as  well  as  beauty 
to  enjoy."  There  is  nothing  more  profitless  than 
discussions  over  the  superiority  or  inferiority  of 
one  art  to  another,  but  it  may  be  asked,  what  is  it 
for  which  the  world  has  always  adored  art  —  its 
"ideas"  or  its  beauty?  The  harm  that  the  art 
enthusiast  may  incur  is  in  a  too  passionate  love  of 
the  sensuous,  in  detaching  a  special  beauty  from 
its  proper  relation  to  life,  and  in  so  concentrating 
his  gaze  on  a  superficial  fascination  as  to  permit 
it  to  hypnotize  him  and  paralyze  his  will.  It  is  a 
matter  of  record  that  this  evil  is  as  often  found  in 
a  devotion  to  poetry  and  the  arts  of  design  as  to 
music,  and  the  fact  that  they  are  more  directly  con- 
nected with  actual  life  does  not  make  their  en- 
chantments any  less  malign.  I  am  not  alluding  to 
their  ability  to  corrupt  by  actual  representation,  but 
rather  to  the  tendency  of  the  art  voluptuary  to 
yield  to  that  subtle,  deceiving  form  of  self-indul- 
gence which  exhausts  his  sympathy  with  the  toils 
and  sorrows  of  his  fellow  men  while  he  imagines  he 
is  cultivating  the  finest  capacities  of  his  nature. 
D'Annunzio,  in  his  novel,  II  Piacere,  has  vividly 
portrayed  in  Andrea  Spirelli  a  nature  whose  moral 
decadence  had  been  accelerated  by  his  surrender 
to  the  utmost  allurements  of  the  senses.  "Urban- 
ity, atticism,  love  of  all  delicacies,  predilection  for 
singular  studies,  aesthetic  curiosity,  refined  gallantry 
were  hereditary  qualities  in  the  house  of  Spirelli." 
Following  his  father's  maxim  that  "  one  must  make 
273 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  A   MUSIC  LOVER 

one's  own  life  as  one  makes  a  work  of  art,"  Andrea 
had  adopted  as  his  one  aim  in  life  the  ambition  to 
develop  his  sensitiveness  to  impressions  at  every 
cost.  Penetrated,  impregnated  with  art,  thirsty  for 
pleasure,  tortured  by  an  ideal,  by  nature  and  edu- 
cation abhorring  pain,  he  was  vulnerable  every- 
where. "In  the  tumult  of  contradictory  inclina- 
tions he  had  lost  all  volition  and  all  morality.  The 
will,  in  abdicating,  had  yielded  her  sceptre  to  the 
instincts,  and  the  aesthetic  sense  was  substituted  for 
the  moral  sense."  Eventually  corruption  did  in 
him  its  perfect  work. 

Andrea  Spirelli  is  by  no  means  an  isolated  phe- 
nomenon in  modern  literature.  In  fact  romancers 
of  recent  times,  especially  the  French,  seem  to  take 
an  almost  morbid  pleasure  in  depicting  the  causes, 
progress,  and  results  of  those  spiritual  maladies  that 
arise  from  over-indulgence  in  delicate  specialized 
sensations.  And  it  is  not  in  fiction  alone  that  we 
meet  examples  of  moral  decline  accompanied  by 
the  most  exquisite  aesthetic  sensibility.  The  lives 
of  such  men  as  Alfred  de  Musset,  Paul  Verlaine,  and 
Ernest  Dowson  illustrate  the  dire  possibilities  that 
attend  the  cult  of  that  form  of  beauty  whose  sacra- 
ments are  not  consecrated  by  virtue  and  adminis- 
tered in  holy  fear.  There  are  also  more  robust 
spirits  than  those  I  have  named,  men  and  women 
whose  ideals  of  art  have  been  lofty  and  whose  labors 
have  been  of  lasting  benefit  to  society,  yet  in  whose 
lives  there  have  been  episodes  that  point  an  equally 
salutary  if  less  melancholy  moral.  So  numerous 
274 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  LAW 

are  the  instances  of  intense  artistic  activity  coupled 
with  indifference  to  certain  generally  accepted  ethi- 
cal sanctions,  that  it  is  not  strange  that  many  should 
incline  to  the  belief  that  it  is  the  natural  tendency 
of  the  aesthetic  passion  to  undermine  the  founda- 
tions of  the  sterner  virtues. 

Such  a  conclusion  is  grossly  exaggerated  and  can 
be  held  only  in  company  with  a  superficial  view  of 
the  nature  of  art  and  its  history.  It  cannot  be 
denied,  however,  that  there  are  peculiar  tempta- 
tions against  which  the  art  enthusiast  and  the  artist 
also  should  be  fortified.  The  artist  and  the  art 
lover  live  in  an  ideal  world,  and  their  elevation  above 
the  prosaic  routine  of  ordinary  life  seems  often  to 
lift  them  above  the  conventional  virtues  and  obli- 
gations. Examples  of  ethical  unconcern  in  union 
with  superior  artistic  achievement  occur  most  con- 
spicuously in  those  periods  of  art,  such  as  the 
Renaissance  and  the  nineteenth  century  romantic 
epoch,  when  all  the  conditions  stimulated  an  in- 
tense individualism.  In  periods  such  as  that  of  the 
Gothic  architecture  and  sculpture,  where  the  artist 
works  upon  general  ideas  and  hides  himself  in 
production  of  a  common  type,  the  artist's  temper  is 
serene  because  he  feels  no  antagonism.  The  artists 
of  the  Renaissance  and  the  romantic  period,  on  the 
other  hand,  were  in  arms  against  an  established 
order,  and  the  latter  especially,  in  defying  traditional 
authority  and  asserting  independence  in  emotion 
and  its  expression,  were  frequently  led  into  revolt 
against  social  usages  which  seemed  to  them  involved 
275 


THE  EDUCATION   OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

in  the  Philistinism  against  which  they  waged  a  sort 
of  holy  war.  License  in  matters  of  conduct  seemed  to 
them  a  logical  corollary  from  the  freedom  of  thought 
which  they  rightly  claimed.  A  somewhat  similar  er- 
ror will  beguile  the  eager  connoisseur  if  he  is  not  on 
his  guard.  Even  when  actual  moral  relaxation  does 
not  ensue,  there  may  be  a  luxurious  abandonment 
to  a  one-sided  culture  which  entails  impatience  with 
humdrum  responsibilities,  and  eventually  an  ener- 
vation of  that  motive  force  that  is  needed  for  the 
efficient  performance  of  commonplace  domestic  and 
social  duties.  The  art  voluptuary  is  always  in  dan- 
ger of  falling  into  that  state  of  which  Gautier  speaks 
when  he  says  of  Gerard  de  Nerval  that  "the  pro- 
gressive invasion  of  dreams  had  gradually  rendered 
it  impossible  for  him  to  live  in  an  environment  where 
realities  move." 

The  life  of  an  artist  offers  a  compensation 
for  his  frequent  loss  of  hold  upon  external  fact; 
he  puts  his  emotion  into  form,  he  creates  an- 
other fact,  often  so  pure  and  lovely  that  his  own  de- 
tachment becomes  a  virtue  because  it  is  a  necessary 
condition  of  a  productiveness  so  beneficial.  The 
dilettante,  on  the  other  hand,  receives  and  enjoys  at 
the  cost  of  another's  toil,  while  himself  producing 
nothing.  He  often  sinks  into  a  state  in  which  effort, 
for  the  time  being  at  least,  would  be  a  burden,  and 
the  very  work  that  was  brought  into  existence  with 
labor  and  pain  may  become  to  him  a  cause  of  lan- 
guor and  apathy. 

Does  this  homily,  it  may  be  asked,  at  all  concern 
276 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  LAW 

the  music  lover?  Is  there  any  risk  In  the  musical 
infatuation  equal  to  that  which  often  lies  in  the  other 
aesthetic  cravings?  On  one  side  of  the  indictment 
a  defense  can  be  entered.  The  fact  that  "music 
arouses  emotion  without  furnishing  any  hint  of  an 
end  to  which  the  emotion  shall  be  directed,"  in- 
stead of  constituting  an  especial  snare,  it  seems  to 
me  comes  near  being  a  saving  grace.  Poetry  and 
painting  present  to  the  imagination  and  the  sight 
not  only  emotions,  but  objects  and  ends.  This  mu- 
sic cannot  do.  I  am  aware  that  many  hold  the 
belief  that  music  can  be  moral  or  immoral,  religious 
or  irreligious  per  se.  This  is  an  error  that  is 
closely  related  to  the  notion  that  music  alone  can 
represent  or  describe  actual  concrete  objects  and 
definite  sentiments.  The  demoralizing  influence 
which  some  ascribe  to  the  music  of  certain  operas 
is  not  in  the  music,  but  (if  it  exists  at  all)  in  the  texts 
and  situations.  A  degrading  idea  may  be  associa- 
ated  with  a  musical  strain,  but  the  probability  is 
that  this  idea  will  fade  away  when  the  music  is  re- 
called. Music  has  a  wonderful  cleansing  property. 
Professor  George  Santayana's  statement  that  "art 
registers  passions  without  stimulating  them,"  and 
that  "  in  stopping  to  depict  them  it  steals  away  their 
life,"  —  while  somewhat  in  excess  of  the  truth  in 
respect  to  literature  and  the  representative  arts, 
is  very  near  the  truth  in  respect  to  music.  It  is 
doubtful  if  music  has  the  power  of  registering  pas- 
sion; it  can  hardly  even  suggest  it  unless  one  is 
predetermined  to  find  it  there.  Certain  it  is  that 
277 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

music  often  throws  over  an  unworthy  theme  a  veil 
of  such  magical  illusion  that  ugliness  is  turned  into 
beauty,  vice  into  purity.  It  is  her  glory  that  when 
permitted  to  act  in  freedom  her  communications  are 
always  innocent.  We  may  call  music  good  or  bad, 
but  we  mean  that  it  is  well  or  ill  composed.  We 
may  call  it  strong  or  weak,  noble  or  trivial,  refined 
or  coarse,  but  we  use  these  terms  in  a  musical  sense, 
not  attaching  to  them  any  notion  of  approbation  or 
disapprobation  on  ethical  grounds.  Sensuous  de- 
sire and  gross  intrigue  disappear  from  Beaumar- 
chais's  "Marriage  of  Figaro"  when  Mozart  exor- 
cizes the  evil  spirit  by  the  touch  of  his  happy,  guile- 
less music.  Many  people  find  it  hard  to  accept 
these  statements;  the  music  has  become  so  blended 
in  their  minds  with  the  idea  or  picture  that  has  been 
arbitrarily  attached  to  it  that  they  impute  the  elTect 
of  one  to  the  other.  Moreover,  those  who  philoso- 
phize are  often  more  prone  to  imagine  experiences 
of  others  than  to  make  an  exact  study  of  their  own. 
All  this  seems  to  me  so  plain  that  when  I  find 
even  learned  musical  critics  imputing  ethical  or  un- 
ethical qualities  to  abstract  music  without  words, 
scene,  or  even  title,  I  confess  myself  sorely  bewil- 
dered. A  well  known  writer  of  our  day  finds 
Chopin's  music  "saturated  with  the  color  and  mood 
of  sex."  Schumann's  D  minor  symphony  is  "that 
obvious  autobiography  of  triumphant  love."  No- 
tice the  word  "obvious."  Brahms,  Liszt,  Raff, 
Tchaikovsky  "were  thrall  beyond  any  other  alle- 
giance to  the  persuasions  of  sexual  emotion;  music 
278 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER   LAW 

makers  haunted  and  enchained  by  the  glamour  of 
the  erotic."  The  writer  is  not  offering  this  as  a 
mere  subjective  impression  —  the  erotic  music  of 
these  men,  he  asserts,  "makes  no  concealment,  as 
it  admits  no  doubt  of  its  origin,"  Is  there  not  here 
an  odd  jumble  of  psychologic  and  aesthetic  confu- 
sions? The  music  of  Brahms  (Brahms  the  austere, 
Brahms  the  academic,  so  often  pedantic,  so  often, 
we  must  confess  it,  dull)  making  no  concealment 
and  admitting  no  doubt  of  its  origin  in  sexual  emo- 
tion! Perhaps,  also,  certain  music  is  pea-green, 
while  other  music  smells  of  heliotrope  or  garlic, 
—  such  asseverations  have  been  solemnly  made. 
There  is  harm  in  such  lucubrations  as  I  have  quoted 
because  they  mislead  many  confiding  music  lovers, 
persuading  them,  it  may  be,  that  poison  lurks  in 
a  thing  that  is  really  pure,  and  this  is  almost  as  rep- 
rehensible a  disservice  as  to  persuade  one  that  a 
harmful  thing  is  innocent.  A  unique  property  of 
music  is  in  that  plasticity  which  enables  it  to  take 
whatever  stamp  the  fancy  may  choose  to  impress 
upon  it.  It  suffers  the  hearer  to  conjure  up  what- 
ever imagery  his  temperament  or  his  theory  may 
suggest;  but  when  he  is  enthralled  by  visions  that 
seem  to  him  to  assume  reality  within  this  tone 
world  of  magic,  let  him  consider  that  he  is  en- 
tangled, like  Merlin,  in  spells  of  his  own  weaving. 

In  this  realm  of  the  impalpable,  toward  which 

music  so  smilingly  beckons,  there  may  be  pitfalls 

concealed  among  the  flowers.     But  we  shall  not 

escape  them  by  wholly  misconceiving  their  nature. 

279 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

When  we  speak  of  an  emotion  without  an  object, 
objectionable  because  there  is  no  outlet  afforded  for 
instant  action,  we  are  in  danger  of  falling  into  the 
trap  that  lies  in  an  uncertain  meaning  given  to  the 
word  emotion.  To  feel  pity  at  the  sight  of  real 
suffering,  and  then  let  it  evaporate  in  tearful  regret 
taking  no  trouble  to  relieve, —  such  abortive  emo- 
tion is  more  likely  to  weaken  than  fortify  the  char- 
acter. But  when  we  use  the  word  emotion  to  signify 
the  mental  stirring  before  a  work  of  art,  it  carries 
very  different  connotations.  The  feelings  aroused  by 
a  drama  are  not  the  feelings  that  would  be  aroused 
by  corresponding  incidents  in  real  life.  The  illu- 
sionized  spectator  in  the  story,  who  leaped  upon  the 
stage  to  assault  the  successful  villain,  quite  mis- 
understood the  province  of  art.  The  murder  of 
Desdemona  has  not  the  horror  of  reality.  The 
loves  of  Antony  and  Cleopatra  do  not  tempt  us  to 
emulation  of  their  unholy  excess;  and  it  is  not  the 
warning  of  the  tragic  consequence  that  defeats  the 
evil  suggestion,  but  the  intellectualizing,  ideahzing 
power  of  poetry.  It  is  hardly  correct  to  say  that  the 
emotion  felt  in  music  and  other  noble  art  has  no 
end  to  which  it  may  be  directed.  It  is  itself  an 
end  in  the  same  sense  that  a  religious  emotion  is 
itself  an  end.  No  one  is  reasonably  required  to 
turn  every  high  mood  into  an  instantaneous  im- 
pulse to  action.  If  this  mood,  whether  it  comes 
from  music  or  any  other  pure  source,  makes  one 
to  any  extent  or  in  any  particular  a  better  man, 
then  a  worthy  end  is  served.  The  deeds  will  follow 
280 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  LAW 

when  the  proper  occasion  comes  for  them.  And 
so  music,  while  it  may  not  arouse  a  zeal  for  speedy 
effort,  may  yet  have  other  offices  not  less  worthy. 
Through  its  power  to  soothe  and  refresh,  to  sym- 
bohze  what  is  pure  and  holy,  to  promote  the  social 
consciousness  by  effecting  a  sense  of  fellowship 
with  others  in  a  refined  experience,  to  brace  the 
mind  for  coming  duties  by  the  tonic  of  joy,  to 
lighten  care  and  soften  the  hardness  of  adversity  — 
through  these  blessed  ministries  has  music  earned 
the  praises  which  the  wise  ones  of  the  earth  have 
always  lavished  upon  her  as  an  inspiring  ally  in 
moral  culture  and  humanitarian  progress.  When  a 
man  feels  himself  thus  exalted  by  music,  when  the 
glow  of  tenderness  pervades  his  being  as  he  goes 
home  from  a  concert  hall,  he  should  not  be  ready 
to  banish  the  impression.  Even  so  kindly  an  act 
as  speaking  genially  to  his  aunt  would  be  wrong 
for  him  were  it  to  bring  him  down  abruptly  from 
the  soul's  height  which,  as  Wordsworth  reminds 
us,  is  so  difficult  to  keep. 

In  view  of  the  conditions  that  prevail  in  this 
country  and  the  mental  habits  of  our  people,  it  does 
not  appear  that  either  music  or  any  other  form  of 
art  is  destined  soon  to  become  an  influence  that 
makes  for  social  anaemia.  But  we  may  reach  that 
point  at  last.  If  one  uses  art  in  such  a  way  that 
it  becomes  a  de-intellectualizing  agency,  to  the  de- 
moralizing stage  is  only  a  step.  The  national  re- 
proach lies  in  the  fact  that,  while  we  are  beginning 
to  encourage  art,  we  use  it  as  a  detail  in  our  pur- 
281 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

suit  of  ostentation  and  pleasure,  not  for  the  incor- 
poration of  noble  ideals  or  as  an  element  in  the  dis- 
semination of  such  ideals  among  the  various  ranks 
of  society.  We  have  not  learned  to  take  art  seri- 
ously; we  have  no  distinct  knowledge  of  the  pur- 
pose that  the  arts,  when  made  a  part  of  religion  and 
patriotic  aspiration,  have  fulfilled  in  history;  we 
have  no  resolute  ambition  to  bring  them  into  the 
deeper  currents  of  our  life.  A  superficial  dilettant- 
ism is  still  characteristic  of  many  who  take  notice 
of  art,  while  the  attitude  of  the  great  majority 
is  that  of  stupid  disrespect.  It  may  be  that  this 
indifference  is  slowly  giving  way,  but  if  so  the  dan- 
ger is  that  those  who  leave  the  crowd  of  the  obtuse 
and  join  the  circle  of  the  amateurs  will  do  so  with- 
out bringing  with  them  any  very  stern  determina- 
tion to  use  art  as  a  means  of  adding  to  the  true 
riches  of  the  soul.  The  gain  is  not  great  if  there  is 
merely  a  multiplication  of  the  horde  that  sees  only 
the  sensuous  side  of  art,  skimming  its  surface  for 
a  taste  of  momentary  delectation,  finding  nothing 
that  strengthens  the  understanding  or  reenforces  the 
agencies  that  make  for  enlightenment  and  virtue. 

So  far  as  music  is  concerned  (and  the  rules  of 
health  are  the  same  in  all  the  arts)  the  individual's 
safeguard  against  the  enfeeblement  which  may  re- 
sult from  over-indulgence  in  the  sweets  of  this  most 
intoxicating  of  aesthetic  enjoyments  is,  it  seems  to 
me,  twofold.  In  the  first  place  we  may  say,  para- 
phrasing a  well  known  maxim  respecting  the  evils 
of  democracy,  that  the  cure  for  the  possible  ills  of 
282 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  LAW 

music  is  more  music.  By  this  I  mean  more  music 
of  the  highest  order,  together  with  a  preparation 
of  mind  that  enables  one  to  discriminate  between 
the  quahties  that  fade  and  the  quahties  that  endure, 
and  an  artistic  conscience  that  refuses  to  find  satis- 
faction in  work  that  is  not  sincerely  felt  and  skil- 
fully wrought.  Anything  less  than  this  is  injustice 
to  one's  self,  injustice  to  the  art,  and  injustice  to 
the  musician  who  asks  that  he  shall  not  be  exposed 
to  the  temptation  of  degrading  his  work  in  order 
that  he  may  live. 

In  the  second  place,  the  conscientious  amateur 
will  escape  the  danger  that  lies  in  wait  for  those 
who  are  too  much  at  ease  in  the  musical  Zion,  if 
he  will  add  his  own  momentum  to  those  blessed 
efforts,  that  are  springing  up  all  over  this  coimtry, 
to  bring  the  sweet  companionship  of  music  to  those 
who  live  far  from  the  centres  of  culture,  to  those 
who  are  forming  their  taste  in  colleges  and  schools, 
and  to  those  who  toil  with  their  hands  for  daily 
bread.  In  this  age  of  humanitarian  endeavor,  he  is 
indeed  an  alert  observer  who  can  count  the  move- 
ments for  the  welfare  of  men  which  make  their  ap- 
pearance every  day;  it  would  not  be  strange  if  he 
overlooked  the  efforts  which  are  organized  in  many 
of  our  cities  for  the  musical  benefit  of  the  masses. 
This  is  not  the  place  to  enumerate  them  or  to  de- 
scribe the  happy  results  that  flow  from  them.  It 
is  enough  to  say  that  the  common  belief  that  the 
people  prefer  bad  music  to  good  is  everywhere  re- 
futed. The  tribute  that  has  been  paid  by  a  promi- 
283 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

nent  critic  to  the  service  of  the  People's  Symphony 
concerts  in  New  York  would  be  applicable  to  other 
similar  institutions.  In  speaking  of  the  large  and 
enthusiastic  audiences  he  says:  "These  people  are 
learning  what  music  is;  what  the  composers  have 
created  and  set  before  them  for  the  information  of 
their  intellect  and  the  warning  of  their  imagination. 
They  are  true  and  humble  and  devoted  music 
lovers,  and  in  their  homes  the  tone  art  will  be  a 
part  of  the  daily  thought  of  their  children  and  come 
into  its  own." 

In  spite  of  the  influences  that  are  now  in  action 
for  the  dissemination  of  good  music  among  all  the 
social  groups,  the  taste  of  the  vast  majority  is  still 
debased,  and  the  amount  of  vulgar,  trashy  music 
heard  at  the  thousands  of  cheap  pleasure  resorts 
is  appalling.  Yet  there  is  comfort  in  the  belief 
that  the  masses  seize  eagerly  upon  music  of  the 
"cheap  and  nasty"  variety  because  they  have  not 
been  able  to  hear  any  other.  Good  music,  at  least 
decent  music,  prevails  when  it  is  given  a  chance,  and 
although  Gresham's  law  may  be  true  in  the  world 
of  finance  it  has  no  counterpart  in  the  world  of 
tone.  No  one  ever  devoted  himself  with  unselfish 
zeal  to  the  improvement  of  the  public  taste  who 
did  not  find  encouragement,  and,  if  he  persevered, 
a  reward  beyond  his  hopes.  Philanthropists  have 
only  just  begun  to  see  what  the  elevation  of  the 
people's  amusements  would  do  for  public  content- 
ment and  public  morals.  Here  is  a  field  in  which 
all  can  try  experiments.  One  result  at  least  is 
284 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  LAW 

sure, —  any  one  will  find  that  his  artistic  pleasures 
will  contribute  to  his  moral  growth  if  he  seeks 
cordially  to  share  them  with  his  neighbor.  If  any 
harm  ever  comes  from  the  indulgence  of  a  love  for 
art  it  will  be  because  that  love  is  egotistic,  because 
it  loses  sight  of  the  fact  that  the  enjoyment  of  one, 
however  refined  and  pure  it  may  appear  to  be,  is  a 
delusion  unless  it  is  of  such  a  kind  that  it  can  unite 
with  the  interest  of  all. 

At  the  end  of  this  long  argument  framed  for  the 
justification  of  the  study  of  music  to  the  reason, 
and  in  deprecation  of  certain  deductions  which 
something  in  music's  nature  seems  so  prone  to 
encourage,  the  feeling  comes  over  me  that  I  have 
played  an  ungrateful,  half-treacherous  part  in  seem- 
ing to  imply  that  any  apology  should  ever  be  needed 
for  whole  souled  devotion  to  this  queenliest  and 
most  beneficent  of  the  arts.  When  her  pure  ac- 
cents fall  upon  our  ears,  transmitted  to  us  by  those 
prophets  and  high  priests  of  Beauty  whom  we  call 
composers,  when  our  whole  being  trembles  with  a 
joy  which  we  know  contains  no  admixture  of  evil 
because  it  is  not  of  the  world  in  which  our  feet 
stumble  and  our  hands  are  soiled, —  in  these  rapt 
moments  we  may  easily  be  moved  to  think  that 
our  hard  won  scientific  lore,  our  calm  critical  ap- 
praisals, are  after  all  impertinent,  for  what  can 
music  ask  of  us,  what  can  anything  fair  and  holy 
ask  of  us,  except  unsuspicious  acceptance  and  glad 
surrender?  If  we  are  told,  while  still  under  the 
285 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

sway  of  some  sublime  harmony,  that  music  is  of 
inferior  worth  because  it  is  detached  from  Hfe,  we 
are  tempted  to  ask  our  monitor,  with  something 
like  indignation,  what  he  means  by  life;  if  there 
is  no  life  except  what  we  can  see  and  touch;  and 
whence,  if  not  from  life  —  life  that  is  very  full, 
very  rich,  and  near  to  the  centre  of  Being  —  can  a 
communication  of  such  ineffable  beauty  proceed? 
There  is  something  inferior  and  partial  in  a 
phase  of  life  that  has  nothing  in  it  to  which  music 
can  suggest  a  counterpart,  for  music,  more  than 
any  other  form  of  human  expression,  tells  us  of  a 
sphere  into  which  we  can  rise  where  contradictions 
are  removed  and  discords  resolved.  Perhaps  the 
mystics  to  whom  I  have  referred,  such  as  Thoreau 
and  Hearn,  who  are  lifted  by  music  "above  the 
mire  and  dust  of  the  universe,"  hearing  "reminders 
of  our  destiny,"  who  are  haunted  in  music  by  "the 
pains  and  joys  of  lives  innumerable,"  —  perhaps 
they  have  seen  more  deeply  than  the  critics  and 
theorists  and  are  the  true  soothsayers.  It  is  the 
unique  praise  of  music  that  the  humble  and  suffer- 
ing ones,  in  every  age  and  in  every  land,  have  sought 
in  the  folk  song  for  abiding  consolation ;  that  religion 
has  found  her  offices  of  worship  grow  cold  when 
deprived  of  music's  presence;  that  patriotism  has 
found  in  melody  its  most  potent  stimulus  to  heroic 
deed;  that  every  phase  of  domestic  life,  from  the 
cradle  to  the  grave,  has  always  and  everywhere  been 
sweetened  and  sanctified  by  this  blessed  ministry. 
It  has  ever  been  the  purpose  of  music  to  increase 
286 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  LAW 

the  joy  of  the  world.  In  the  last  analysis  this  is 
the  supreme  aim  of  all  art  and  its  chiefest  glory; 
and  what  words  can  there  be  that  are  eloquent 
enough  to  give  sufficient  honor  to  whatever  helps  to 
convince  men  that  they  are  born  for  happiness? 
And  thus  every  man  who  brings  beauty  nearer  to 
his  fellows  and  makes  them  love  it  more  is  a  mission- 
ary of  a  sacred  cause,  a  herald  of  peace  and  good 
will. 

There  are  agencies  that  lift  men  into  moods  that 
are  bhthe  and  hopeful,  in  which  strength  is  re- 
newed and  faith  rekindled,  and  one  of  them  is 
music.  In  spite  of  exceptions  so  rare  that  they 
emphasize  the  rule,  it  is  a  fact  of  deep  significance 
that  music,  the  universal  art,  to  which  men  have 
confided  the  most  cherished  experiences  of  their 
souls,  is  an  art  that  tells  of  gladness.  The  student 
of  the  world's  literature  is  constantly  touching  a 
vein  of  disillusion  and  despair,  and  his  contact 
with  many  of  its  rarest  minds  often  leaves  him 
depressed.  But  at  the  sound  of  music  cares  and 
distresses  are  overborne,  and  the  soul  is  set  adrift 
on  a  tide  that  flows  toward  radiant  horizons.  Not 
that  music  has  no  sympathy  with  sorrow,  but  when 
she  enters  into  places  of  mourning  she  does  so  not 
to  make  more  poignant  the  agony  of  grief,  but 
rather  to  console.  And  this  triumph  of  the  soul 
of  which  music  testifies  is  no  mere  distraction, 
bringing  false  comfort  by  concealing  the  truth.  It 
imparts  strength  because  its  majestic  movement 
tells  of  tireless  power;  it  opens  vistas  of  hope  be- 
287 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  A  MUSIC  LOVER 

cause  its  golden  tones  bear  no  trace  of  the  dis- 
cordant sounds  of  earthly  struggle  and  lamenting. 
Let  us  not  fear,  then,  lest  we  bestow  too  much 
thought  upon  music,  or  lest  we  be  overzealous 
in  furthering  its  interests  in  the  community.  We 
have  only  to  watch  that  we  love  it  wisely,  study 
it  broadly  and  seriously,  train  our  perceptions  to 
catch  the  whole  of  its  meaning  and  not  a  fragment, 
strive  to  discover  the  relation  of  music  to  life,  and 
not  vainly  imagine  that  he  honors  music,  or  does 
good  service  to  himself,  who  takes  the  flattering 
unction  to  his  soul  that  his  taste  separates  him  from 
those  who  lack  what  he  is  pleased  to  call  culture. 
Art,  when  rightly  understood,  promotes  fraternity 
and  not  exclusiveness.  The  revival  of  art  and  its 
adoption  into  the  system  of  popular  education  is 
a  sign  of  health  in  our  age,  and  to  it  every  loyal 
citizen  should  give  heed  and  lend  his  aid  in  bring- 
ing its  benefits  close  to  the  public  need.  His  prep- 
aration for  this  service,  when  the  art  of  music  is  in- 
volved, will  be  first  of  all  in  his  education  as  a 
true  music  lover.  He  will  seek  association  with 
the  great  tone  masters,  he  will  confidingly  yield  his 
spirit  to  the  healthful  currents  that  flow  from  their 
strong  spirits.  He  will  so  nourish  his  musical  ap- 
preciations that  his  consciousness  of  the  vital  things 
in  the  art  will  flourish  with  his  general  mental 
growth,  with  his  advancement  in  taste,  with  his  in- 
creasing reverence  for  all  things  that  are  excellent 
and  fair.  Convinced  that  strength  and  enlarge- 
ment come  from  music  when  its  social  and  individ- 
288 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  LAW 

ual  quickening  power  is  rightly  applied,  he  will  find 
the  warrant  of  his  discipleship  in  the  zeal  to  assist 
every  unselfish  effort  to  open  highways  for  this 
emissary  of  good  in  its  gladsome  errand  among 
men. 


289 


APPENDIX 

The  following  is  an  incomplete  list  of  non-techni- 
cal books  that  will  prove  valuable  to  the  amateur 
music  lover.  Histories,  biographies,  dictionaries, 
and  text  books  are  not  included.  Should  the 
reader  wish  to  extend  his  researches  further,  he  will 
find  in  the  author's  The  Study  of  the  History  of 
Music  a  very  ample  list  of  works  touching  all 
sides  of  musical  knowledge. 

Ambros  (A.  W.).     The  Boundaries  0}  Music  and  Poetry.    Tr. 

by  Cornell.     New  York:    Schirmer,  1893. 
Baughan  (E.  A.)-    Music  and  Musicians.     London:    Lane, 

1906. 
Coerne   (L.  A.).     The  Evolution  of  Modern  Orchestration. 

New  York:    Macmillan,  1908. 
Combarieu  (Jules).    Music,  Its  Laws  and  Evolution.    Inter- 
national Scientific  Series.     New  York:    Appleton,  1910. 
Ffrangcon-Davies    (David).     The   Singing    0}    the   Future. 

London:    Lane,  1906. 
Finck  (H.  T.).    Chopin  and  Other  Musical  Essays.    New 

York:    Scribner,  1894. 
.    Sotigs   and   Song   Writers.      New   York:    Scribner, 

1900. 
.    Success  in  Music  and  How  It  Is  Won.     New  York: 

Scribner,  1909. 
Oilman  (Lawrence).    Phases  of  Modern  Music.     New  York: 

Harper,  1904. 

291 


APPENDIX 

Oilman  (Lawrence).    Storks  oj  Symphonic  Music:  A  Guide  to 

the  Meaning  oj  Important  Symphonies,  Overtures,  and 

Tone  Poems  from  Beethoven  to  the  Present  Day.     New 

York:  Harper,  1904. 
Glyn  (Margaret  H).     The  Rhythmic  Conception  0}  Music. 

New  York:  Longmans,  Green  &  Co.,  1907. 
Grove    (George).     Beethoven   and   His   Nine   Symphonies. 

London:    Novello,  1896. 
Gurney  (Edmund).     The  Power  0}  Sound.     London:    Smith, 

Elder  &  Co.,  1880. 
Hadow  (W.  H.).    Studies  in  Modern  Music.     2  vols.     New 

York:   Macmillan,  1892-3. 
Hale  (Philip),  editor  and  author.     Program  Books  oj  the  Boston 

Symphony    Orchestra.     Published    annually    by    C.    A. 

Ellis. 
Henderson   (W.    J.).     Modern  Musical  Drijt.     New  York: 

Longmans,  1904. 

.     Preludes  and  Studies.     New  York:    Longmans,  1891 

.     The    Art    oj    the    Singer.     New    York:     Scribner, 

1906. 

.     The  Orchestra  and  Orchestral  Music.     New  York: 

Scribner,  1899. 

.     What  is  Good  Music?     New  York:    Scribner,  1898. 

Kobbe  (Gustav).     How  to  Appreciate  Music.     New  York: 

Moffat,  Yard  &  Co.,  1910. 
Krehbiel   (H.   E.).     How  to  Listen  to  Music.     New  York: 

Scribner,  1897. 
Lavignac   (Albert).     Music  and  Musicians.     Tr.   by   Mar- 
chant.     New  York:    Holt,  1905. 
Mason  (D.   G.).     A   Guide  to  Music.     New  York:    Baker 

&  Taylor  Co.,  19 10. 
.     The  Orchestral  Instruments  and  What  They  Do.     New 

York:  Baker  &  Taylor  Co.,  1910. 
Mason  (D.  G.)  and  Surette  (T.  W.).     The  Appreciation  oj 

Music.     New  York:  Baker  &  Taylor  Co.,  1910. 

(An  explanation  of  the  chief  musical  forms,  with  special 

reference  to  the  works  of  Bach  and  Beethoven.) 
292 


APPENDIX 

Mees  (Arthur).  Choirs  and  Choral  Music.  New  York: 
Scribner,  1901. 

Newman  (Ernest).     Musical  Studies .     London:    Lane,  1905. 

Niecks  (Frederick).  Programme  Music  in  the  Last  Four  Cen- 
turies.    London:    Novello,  1907. 

Parry  (C.  H.  H.).  The  Evolution  of  the  Art  of  Music.  New 
York:    Appleton,  1896. 

Pole  (William).     The  Philosophy  oj  Music.     London:    Triib- 
ner,  1879. 
(An  explanation  of  the  principles  of  musical  science.) 

Riemann  (Hugo).  Catechism  of  Musical  Esthetics.  Tr. 
byBerewunge.     London:    Augener,  no  date. 

.    Dictionary  of  Music.    Tr.   by    Shedlock.    London: 

Augener. 

Symons  (Arthur).  Studies  in  Seven  Arts.  New  York: 
Button,  1906. 

Upton  (G.  P.).  The  Standard  Concert  Guide:  A  Handbook 
of  the  Standard  Symphonies,  Oratorios,  Cantatas,  and 
Symphonic  Poems  for  the  Concert  Goer.  Chicago: 
McClurg,  1908. 

.     The  Standard  Operas.     Chicago:  McClurg,  1908. 

Wagner  (Richard).  On  Conducting.  Tr.  by  Dannreuther. 
London:    Reeves,  1887. 

Wallaschek  (Richard).  Primitive  Music.  London:  Long- 
mans, 1893. 


293 


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